


Challenge Six: Fandom Tropes!

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Porn, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Alternate Universe - Wings, Amnesia, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Bodysharing, Bodyswap, Car Sex, Darkfic, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Dragonriders of Pern - Freeform, Drunk Sex, Evil Twins, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Future Fic, Genderswap, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Immortality, In Vino Veritas, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Magically Bound Together, Magically De-Aged, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Pining, Pon Farr, Power Imbalance, Public Displays of Affection, Public Sex, Reincarnation, Rentboys, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Sharing a Bed, Skin Hunger, Spanking, Strip Poker, Student/teacher relationship, Tails, Tentacles, Time Travel, Truth or Dare, Vampirism, accidentally married, allusions to past abuse, character abuse, cross-dressing, dubcon, made them do it, references to non-con, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 86,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week six, round two of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/14113.html">FAQ on LJ</a></p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/20918.html">Voting Post!</a></p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (With Warnings & Pairings)

1.

 **Warnings:** None?

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Bodysharing

The hows and whys didn't so much matter about why Derek's consciousness was sharing Stiles' body.

All Stiles knew was that he was in there rattling around like a tiny pingpong sized werewolf version of himself, dodging the giant landmines of brainwaves Stiles kept having.

 _"Jesus, do you **ever** shut up? I mean, seriously. Do you **ever** shut up?"_ Derek thought inside Stiles' mind.

"It's not much fun for me, either, buddy. I've just had longer to get used to it," Stiles muttered aloud, unable to get the hang of _thinking_ back at Derek.

Stiles felt Derek sign and there was a distinctive shuffle, like he was trying to get comfortable within Stiles. Derek didn't vocalize it at him but Stiles could feel that Derek was used to sleeping on his right side so without a word he flipped over and closed his eyes.

 _"Thanks,"_ was the brief reply. Stiles nodded in response and fell asleep.

***

"Well this is awkward," Stiles mumbled to himself in the shower. He had a hand wrapped around his cock, trying to figure out the best way to get rid of his morning hardon with an audience.

 _"Don't look at it,"_ Derek suggested and yeah, that was a _really helpful suggestion, Derek_.

"Just because someone's got their back to you in the bathroom doesn't mean you don't get bladder shy," Stiles argued. He felt Derek shrug in his head.

_"I don't."_

"You wouldn't," Stiles grumbled. The normal "morning rush" died down enough for Stiles to finish getting ready and pointedly ignore his now-semi.

He'd deal.

***

 _"Are you perpetually horny?"_ Derek asked during lunch while Stiles was trying to calm himself in the bathroom at school.

"Hmmm, I'm seventeen. Let me think--YES! Don't you reme-" A simple flash of a fiery memory that slipped away from Derek was all it took for him to shut up.

Also did wonders for his erection.

***

A fucked up lacrosse practice and dinner with his father later, Stiles was sprawled across his bed, keyed up with pent up energy. He couldn't concentrate on homework and his usual go-tos to solve the problem would _not_ help now.

 _"You're driving me crazy,"_ Derek spoke up. _"I feel everything you do, you know. Just man up and deal with it."_

Stiles shot straight up in bed. " _Deal_ with it?" he basically squeaked. "How would you suggest that?"

 _"You know exactly how, Stiles,"_ Derek's voice dropped in his mind and Stiles could feel himself respond instantly. He was off his bed in a second, shaking his head.

"Noooo, no, no, no," Stiles replied. Derek assaulted with a barrage of images he must have collected over the years of men and women both, shots from porn, his own experiences... then a memory of Derek himself. Naked and sweaty, post-run Stiles could feel, and Derek stared at himself in a mirror, cock hard between his legs before he gripped it with one hand and started to slowly tug.

Stiles felt his own dick throb in his pants. He pushed his pants down and dropped to the floor as he cupped his own balls.

 _"This is when I first came back. Just got back from finding a couple trespassers on my land,"_ Derek explained. Then there was another image of Derek staring down at himself while sprawled on the old couch in the train car. _"This was after you held me up in the pool."_

Stiles bit back a moan but he could feel Derek return it in his mind. Stiles never felt so much sensory overload before just from touching himself. Derek was projecting the memories on him and he could feel how Derek responded to his own touch, how he looked and even the taste when Derek would suck his own cum off his fingers.

"Nngghhhh," Stiles grunted out as his hand moved over his cock. It only took a couple good tugs before he was coming over himself, finally a release for a long day.

 _"I have a lot more of those you can use,"_ Derek's voice sounded like a purr in Stiles' head as he felt the aftershocks of Stiles' orgasm.

"Fuck that," Stiles gasped. "We're going to find the creature that took your body, get you back in it and then you can give me my own memories."

 _"Now that's motivation if I ever heard any,"_ Derek laughed and Stiles couldn't wait until he could see that for himself.

 

* * *

 

2.

 **Warnings:** Refers to prior non-con (not within the stated pairing).  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Chosen Trope:** Mpreg (with a hell of a twist)

#### Oviparity

There was a dead mechanic in the next room when it happened. Stiles cried himself to sleep that night, one hand pressed to his swollen belly.

Derek came to Stiles after the pool, after he felt the swell of Stiles' stomach through his clothes and heard the beat of a dozen tiny hearts inside him.

"They're not just made," Derek told him. "Kanima are born, too."

Stiles had a panic attack, right there on his bed with Derek in the room and a belly full of rapidly developing eggs.

* * *

It starts half-way through the summer, wakes Stiles from fitful dreams of Jackson grunting against the back of his neck.

Shivers burn through him as his body tightens and eggs shift against one another. He runs his fingers over his stomach, feeling each hard, defined shape, and he whispers into the darkness.

"It's time."

It's been coming since the shells started to harden. An instinct drives him to find safety. Stiles twists his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt as another contraction rolls through him.

He gasps into Derek's throat, clings to his shoulders as the first egg starts to descend. Adrenaline courses through his veins and he shakes with the effort it takes to _not push_.

"You're okay," Derek says, his hands warm on Stiles' bare skin. "I've got you."

Stiles nods and moans as an unexpected ripple of pleasure flows through him. When the contraction fades the egg presses against his prostate, stretches him open. He gasps, rocks his hips.

"Easy," Derek whispers, hands sliding down to hold Stiles' still. "There's no pain?"

Stiles shakes his head and groans as his body tightens again. There's a tingling burn as his rim stretches wide, and his cock jerks and leaks pre-come. The egg slips free of his body and falls into the nest of blankets beneath.

"I want to come," Stiles begs, can't bring himself to care that their relationship isn't like that, and Derek's only here because no one else knows.

"You've gotta wait," Derek says. "Let your body do what it needs to do."

"It needs to _come_." Stiles gasps as his body starts to work again, and he feels another egg make its way down.

As it stills within him, pressure against his prostate as if by design, he feels his orgasm building. Derek's fingers circle his sensitive rim, ready to catch the egg as it emerges. Stiles rocks his hips into the next wave. "Fuck...oh...oh fuck." He comes hard as Derek guides the egg out.

Eggs continue to leave his body. When he comes Derek wipes him clean and strokes his face. Stiles loses count, drifts in a place that is sensation alone, unending waves of pleasure that ebb and flow, and Derek's constant, reassuring presence.

"This is the last one," Derek says.

Stiles lifts his head. Sweat runs into his eyes and he rubs his face against Derek's cheek. The rough scratch of stubble grounds him. "It's _coming_ ," he groans, as tiny, rolling spasms inside him work it though his body.

Again, everything stops with it pressing against his prostate. He moans and clings to Derek's chest, rocks his hips in Derek's firm grip.

Derek slips a hand between Stiles' cheeks and rubs his fingers through the slick fluid that's been coming out with the eggs. "This is it. It's almost over."

Stiles nods and breathes against Derek's throat, inhales his scent and moans as the final egg leaves his body.

Derek drags him up the bed, away from the clutch of fist-sized kanima eggs.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks.

Stiles nods, still panting. He looks at the nest, tries to reconcile the strange urge he has to protect them with the way it started. With the kanima—with Jackson, though he never found out what he'd done to Stiles before he left for London.

Derek follows his gaze. He must read something in it. "Are you going to try and stop me?"

Stiles shakes his head. "The last thing we need in this town is a swarm of tiny monsters." He closes his eyes. "Do it."

* * *

Derek returns smelling faintly of fire and burnt eggshell. He climbs back onto the bed and curls around Stiles. "It's over," he whispers, and follows it with a brush of his lips over Stiles' mouth.

Stiles never knew a kiss could be both chaste and passionate at the same time. He sighs into it, then breathes a barely audible, "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

3.

**Warnings: None**

**Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

**Chosen Trope: Arranged Marriage, Royalty AU**

Scott turned him around, gave him a once over and smiled. “You look amazing Stiles, this guy doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

Stiles just looked at his best friend with misty eyes and tried not to cry.

Scott’s smile faltered. “Hey, hey.” He hugged Stiles tightly. “You’re doing the right thing, buddy.”

Stiles gripped him tight and tried to breathe.

“Am I?” He croaked out.

________________

As Stiles waited for his betrothed at the altar he couldn’t help but think of Isaac. Isaac, whose eyes were an impossible combination of blue, green and gold and insisted on wearing a leather coat despite the warm weather.

He smiled at the memory of telling his father his shirt was irritating his skin to explain all the stubble burn on his neck and chest. Isaac almost spit out his drink when Stiles had told him. The way Isaac’s eyes crinkled when he smiled had made Stiles’ stomach flip every time.

Stiles thought about how it felt when Isaac would pick him up and pin him against a wall, kissing him until he couldn’t breathe, rutting against him until they both found release.

Isaac broke it off with him four days ago. He had looked just as heartbroken as Stiles felt when he said, “I just _can’t_ be with you.”

Stiles never asked why and didn’t fight him on it. In fact, Stiles had been thinking of how to tell the love of his life that he was engaged to someone else. That he wasn’t who he said he was. Isaac thought his name was Scott and that he _worked_ in the castle not _lived_ in it.

For two amazing months Stiles lived the life he wanted, one free from all the responsibilities of the Royal Family and in love with the man of his dreams.

Stiles shook his head and tried to focus on the present.

He stood in front of his father, dressed and ready to perform his duty as the Prince of his Kingdom.

“Here he comes.” His father whispered.

Stiles couldn’t look, he felt nauseous and anxious. He tried to shake off the memories of witty, sarcastic comments, broody eyebrows, and intense stares.

Suddenly, there was a presence next to him and the Hale family matriarch, Talia Hale, stood next to his father for the proceedings.

Stiles’ father cleared his throat. “Please face each other.”

Stiles took a deep breath and turned to his left and felt the air being kicked out of him. Judging by the shocked look on his face, Isaac felt the same.

“We are gathered here today for the union of my son, Stiles Stilinski.” His father stated.

“To my son, Derek Hale.” Talia finished.

Their parents continued with the ceremony but Stiles and _Derek_ just stared at each other. _Derek Hale is Isaac? How? What?_

His father clearing his throat brought Stiles out of his daze. His father mouthed _vows_.

“Right, vows, yes.” There were scattered sounds of laughter and Stiles took Derek’s hand in between both of his and spoke the words he never thought he’d be able to tell him.

He promised his body, heart and soul to the Hale Prince and swore his eternal love and loyalty to him and only him. He could feel Derek’s hand trembling with every word he spoke. Stiles ended his vows with a promise of honesty and when he was done Derek looked like he was having trouble believing what was happening. Stiles felt the same.

When it was Derek’s turn he only said, “I remember I once told you I did not believe in soul mates. I will never forget your reaction. You were hurt that I did not think we were. But as time went by, your love made me believe and now I have no doubt.” His voice broke at the end and Stiles wasn’t sure his chest could take it.

The King ended the ceremony with promise of a strong union and peace throughout both their lands.

They sealed that promise with a kiss.

Derek’s mouth was hot and soft, dragging over Stiles’ lips again and again until Stiles made a broken noise and let his mouth fall open. He missed this, he missed _him_. His body pressed forward and Derek’s arms slid up his back, pulling him closer.

The sound of his fathers cough reminded Stiles of where they were and he broke apart from Derek, breathing heavily and smiling.

Stiles couldn’t wait to consummate this marriage.

 

* * *

  

4.

 **Warnings:** Underage, mentions of the thing with Gerard

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap, f!Stiles

She drives him home that night. "That's twice for you now," she says, still smelling of hurt in a way that makes his breathing hitch. "It seriously fucked Erica over and we're not taking any chances."

He's tired, but makes into the jeep under his own power. The way she clucks her tongue and all but crawls over him to do up his seatbelt reminds him of Laura, but there's nothing brotherly about the way his body reacts when her breasts brush against him.

The jeep hesitates but she croons to it and the engine rewards her by turning over. "Atta girl," she says, giving the dash a pat. "Positive reinforcement," she explains to Derek, the cheer in her voice forced, but appreciated nonetheless. "Try it some time."

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think Isaac would like that."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she hums, but then they're driving and he's tired.

The jeep's silent, cold, when he wakes up. Stiles is sitting beside him, the bruises on her face darker with the shadows, and Derek thinks that it's been a while. He starts to say something, there's a faint scent of salt in the air, the moonlight catching the tracks on her cheeks, but Stiles shakes her head and smiles bright. "You looked like you needed it." Her gaze goes to the building behind him, her nose wrinkling as she adds, "You also need a new place, dude. This won't cut it as a batcave."

"Batcave?"

"Yeah, batcave," Stiles nods. "You thought you were looking for Boyd and Erica by yourself?"

He did. She doesn't give him a chance to argue, driving off with a breezy, "See you in the morning!" trailing behind her.

"If I'd known then what I know now---" Peter says from behind him.

"You'd be dead," Derek growls. "She'd've killed you the first chance she got."

"I know," Peter's response is a happy sigh, "That's what I mean."

He's an idiot, clearly, and not worth killing.

Again.

*

It's mid-afternoon when Stiles walks in. Her bruises are worse in daylight, stark against her face, but it's the expression that really makes Derek move. Asking, "What's wrong?" before he reaches her and realizes she's shaking.

"Did he ask you?"

He knows, then, what she means. He shakes his head. Silent.

Stiles swears, low and furious, and Laura would've loved her. She's angry for him, like no one's been since Laura died, and if Derek hadn't already loved her, he knows he'd love her for this.

"He fucked up. Big."

*

That's the last she says of it, but her fury sits warm in his heart. It's probably fucked up too, but Derek doesn't care.

*

They spend time at the house. Stiles in shorts and Derek can't help staring. She catches him and smirks, but says nothing. "We need wifi. Also power, possibly some walls and a roof?"

"You think I should rebuild?"

"Uh, duh? Pack needs a house, dude, not a hovel." She frowns at her phone. "Cell signal too. It sucks ass out here."

He starts making a list.

*

She tastes the lemonade she's drinking. Derek groans, chasing it with his tongue, and Stiles squirms closer. Her ass grinds down as she does and he sees stars. She does it again and he pushes up into her, hands grabbing on and holding tight. Her shorts are worn thin and he feels them give in his grip.

"Buying me new ones, asshole," she mumbles into his mouth.

He'd buy her anything. Everything.

Her shirt's no better, soaking when he puts mouth to breast, sucking through the fabric. Stiles swears and grabs his head. Derek takes the moment and works fingers between her thighs. She's wet when he strokes her and makes a noise that _guts him_.

*

They fuck every chance they get. If they're not searching, then they're fucking. Derek spends hours eating her out, licking her cunt until she's hoarse, then lying back and watching her ride him.

She's drenched in his scent, Peter smirking constantly, but Scott never shows and Stiles never mentions him.

*

"You should tell him," he tries, once.

Stiles responds by blowing him so hard he cracks his head against the wall. He's still seeing stars when he kisses her, pressing her to the floor.

She bites at his mouth and hooks a leg over his hip.

"When I'm ready."

Maybe it's selfish, but it's her choice anyway.

*

And she chose him.

* * *

 

5.

 **Warnings:** very mild dub-con (sex under duress and influence of 'sex pollen')

 **Pairing:** Sterek

 **Chosen Trope:** Aliens made them do it + Sex Pollen

 

Stiles covers his eyes, whispering, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home." Clicks his red sneakers three times and opens his eyes.

Nope.

Still stuck inside the alien space ship.

_Fuck._

Derek's walking along the perimeter of the circular room, ear tilted towards the walls.

"You know," Stiles begins conversationally, "when Scott got bitten and turned into a werewolf? I _got_ that the world was a lot bigger than I thought it was. Like if werewolves are real then a lot of other crazy stuff might be. But _aliens_ was **nowhere** on that list."

Derek ignores him and keeps on doing whatever he's doing. Stiles decides to examine the stuff resting on the only raised surface in the room. He wonders what the bullet shaped chrome bars are. Listening devices? Weapons? AI?

And what _is_ the nice smelling pink liquid in the pot?

Stiles carefully picks a rod up, sticking his tongue out at his exaggerated reflection before examining the device more carefully. It's all metal and just over 4 inches long. Seamless.

His fingers are sliding over the flat base when Derek asks, "Do you smell that?"

Stiles jerks, and jumps again when the device in his hands begins to vibrate in a familiar way. Yelping, the human stumbles back, chrome vibrator falling to the floor, buzzing merrily on the floor.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is." Stiles whispers in horror, wide eyes darting between Derek, the vibe and the bed. Oh God. Does that mean the pink liquid is what he thinks it is?! This can't be what he thinks it is!

His voice rising high in panic. "I know I said I wanted to try something a little voyeuristic but having sex with _aliens_ watching us was _not_ what I meant!"

"What are you even talking about?" Derek asks, walking over to hold Stiles' arms. "You're not making any sense."

Stiles grabs his werewolf boyfriend by his stupidly attractive face and explains, "We got zapped up by aliens. We're stuck in a room with a bed and a set of vibes and lube. What does that tell you?"

Derek frowns in confusion. Stiles stares back, willing Derek to GET IT because it's too crazy to say aloud. He sees the realization flash in Derek's eyes, which widen as he looks up. " _That's_ why they're pumping pheromones in."

"Phero-" Stiles chokes on the word. He gives up and drops his head on Derek's shoulder with a whine. "How is this our life? Werewolves, I can deal with. Werejaguars was a stretch but I dealt with it. But _aliens _that want us to have sex? That's no-whoa."__

His head spins. Stiles blinks dazedly up at Derek, feeling kitten weak and _hot_. Why does his skin feel like it's shrinking? And his heart pounding so hard and fast? Why is he getting hard so fa-

"Shit." Stiles slurs against Derek's neck. "Pheromones."

Derek's Adam's apple bobs close to Stiles' mouth before he nods. It's easier than breathing to lean in and kiss the stubbled patch of skin. Stiles feels like there's a fire lit under his skin and nothing will cure it besides Derek's come in him.

"Stiles. We shouldn't. You're not...." Derek trails off, following Stiles back to the bed, nose dragging down Stiles' hot cheek before stealing a kiss.

Stiles moans as they fall back together, impatient hands yanking each other's clothes off. There's a strange whirring noise, followed by a soft, melodic whistling, coming from somewhere as they strip. It's only when Derek reaches over to grab the lube pot, does Stiles notice the 'window' which has opened overhead. And the audience watching them.

"We got company." Stiles jerks his chin up.

Derek glances up at Stiles' words, flashes his eyes and fangs at the bright eyes aliens watching them before covering Stiles' naked body with his own. Stiles grunts, then hisses when Derek's slick hand curls around their dicks before pumping at a merciless pace.

It shouldn't be this hot. Stiles shouldn't feel like his brain is melting when he comes within _minutes_ , dick aching so hard he wants to _cry_. It's got to be whatever chemical the aliens have pumped into the room. And the lube too.

"More." Derek growls through his fangs, lube and come slick fingers moving before Stiles' balls to tease his hole.

Stiles moans, pushing his hips down on Derek's fingers. "Fuck yeah." He agrees.

 

* * *

 

6.

 **Warnings:** age difference, underage

 **Pairing:** Derek/Sheriff Stilinski

 **Chosen Trope:** magically de-aged

 

  
  
The first thing Derek notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is that he can't keep his shirt on.   
  
Derek finds him standing in the loft kitchen eating a bowl of cereal over the sink, all golden skin and lithe back and a cocky, jutted hip with his holster hanging low.   
  
He waits until the the kid notices him, raises a blond eyebrow.   
  
"Sir--" Derek says, slightly exasperated, and holds up the teen's shirt.   
  
The Sheriff snorts and turns away, finishes his meal. When he's done, he struts over like he can't help it, all boy swagger, and takes the shirt out of Derek's hand and puts it back on.   
  
An hour later, Derek watches helplessly as the kid skins his shirt off again and balls it up before he tosses it behind the couch. 

  
* 

  
The second thing he notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is how strong he still is when he's winding up to put his fist right in Agent McCall's face.   
  
"--wait!" Derek says and winces when that fist connects, bloodies McCall's mouth.   
  
"What the h-hell--" the man cries out in surprise, tripping backwards.   
  
"Come on," the Sheriff growls as he grabs Derek's arm and drags him away.   
  
They run until the Sheriff is panting, his baby-face stained red, his chest heaving. They duck behind a car in the hardware store parking lot like hooligans.   
  
The Sheriff laughs then, head tossed back into the car's side as he catches his breath. "Christ, I've wanted to do that for god knows how long," he admits. "At least this witch spell was good for one thing."   
  
He grins at Derek then and Derek lets out a hard, frustrated breath at how annoyingly attractive he is in his self-satisfaction. 

  
* 

  
The third thing he notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is how deeply he kisses, slanting their lips together so he can eat Derek's stunned mouth out.   
  
"Yeah, come on, kiddo. That's it--" the teenage boy croons when Derek rips away to hitch in shallow, agitated breaths.   
  
"Sheriff--" he tries and skinny arms wrap around his neck and his mouth is claimed again, curious tongue flirting all over the sensitive corner of his lips.   
  
They make out for a long time, the boy's fingers playing with the hair at his nape, stroking down under the collar of his tee-shirt to warm him up, gentle him.   
  
When they pull away, the world is narrowed down to soft, pink edges. The boy's tender little stomach makes Derek's claws pop.   
  
Derek pins those hips to the couch and nuzzles down, teeth sinking in the teen's waistband, tugging.   
  
"Oh my god, son," the Sheriff rasps, dropping his head back and arching.   
  
Derek frees him, his cock all plump and rosy at the tip, like a cherry Derek wants to savor in the softness of his inner cheek. He pops it in his mouth, muffles a groan around it, loving all that silky, rigid skin.   
  
He wrecks the Sheriff, one heated suck at a time, watching every single shudder of pleasure that quakes through that skinny, young body, every single hitching sob that trembles on his mouth.   
  
"Gonna come, oh fuck, Hale. I'm gonna come--" the Sheriff says, voice frantic, starting to twitch, hands finding Derek's hair and wrenching at it.   
  
Derek closes his eyes and moans for him, wants the Sheriff to mess his mouth up with his orgasm.   
  
"Oh fuck, goddamn--" the Sheriff growls, hips jerk-jerking and then he comes with a broken "Sweetheart--" like he can't help it.   
  
After, Derek pulls off with a pop, wipes his raw mouth off on his forearm and watches the boy sprawl, soft and glazed over, looking so much like Stiles in his come-stupid pleasure. 

  

* * *

 

7.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Sterek

 **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap

A harsh laugh, lightning, and a thunderclap accompanied the witch's exit from the Preserve. Stiles had just enough time to roll his eyes at the cheesy dramatics before he fell shrieking to the ground, body curling tight in an attempt to ward off the melting, searing agony that was twisting through him, leaving no piece of him untouched.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain was gone.

Still shaking, Stiles scrubbed tears from his cheeks and rolled over, looking up into the concerned faces of his friends. "H-hey, guys," he said, voice high and breathy, all that screaming ruining his vocal chords.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott slurred around a mouthful of pointy teeth.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." Stiles gently patted himself down. "It just felt… OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Scrambling to his feet, Stiles looked down in shock.

He had tits. And, okay, he'd been told that his nipples were delightfully plump by a drag queen once, but now? Now they were _tits_. Not huge, by any stretch of the imagination, but they were at least the same size as Cora's.

Whipping his shirt off over his head, he pointed his chest at Scott. "Do you see my tits?"

Scott smacked his hand to his eyes and, sounding horribly scandalized, shouted, "Stiles, what the fuck? You can't just—"

But Stiles' panicked shout drowned him out. "Oh my GOD, my dick is gone!"

A muffled giggle made Stiles glare at Kira, whose face flushed red as she bit her lip and smiled apologetically at him. That was when Stiles _remembered_.

His jeans joined his shirt on the ground, and he was half-out of his boxers when Isaac shouted, "Hey, man! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Someone," Stiles said, huffing in frustration as his foot got trapped in the slit in his boxers, "needs to fuck me. Right now."

"Oh my god, Stiles." Scott peeked through his fingers before spinning around. "What the hell? Why…?"

"There are _rules_ to this shit, Scott!" Stiles snapped, hands on his newly-widened hips as he stood naked in front of the _entire fucking pack_. "We've read enough fanfiction to know that! Oh, don't even try," he added when Scott stiffened. "I know you read every fucking link I send you."

"So… let's pretend the rest of us _haven't_ read fanfiction." Derek's voice was still growly. "What does that mean? Why are you naked?"

"It means magic has a time limit, Derek! And if you fuckers make me miss out on multiple orgasms because of your delicate sensibilities, I will shoot every single one of you. With wolfsbane bullets!"

"No one's having sex with you, Stiles!" Scott shouted at the same time Derek said, "Okay."

"Wait… what?" Stiles' mouth dropped open in shock.

Derek shrugged. "I'll do it. I mean, knowing you, you'll just run through town offering yourself to every person you see until someone takes you up on it _anyway_. It's safer if it's one of us."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You wanna have sex with _me_?"

"Look, there's a possibility that there'll be a side effect to it, right? Maybe it'll turn you back. But _maybe_ it'll kill the person you have sex with. And if that's the case…"

"Are you seriously turning this into some fucked up way to sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack?" Flailing made Stiles' boobs jiggle in interesting ways, he couldn't help noting. Hell, even _Isaac_ was watching them bounce, and dude _hated_ Stiles.

"Do you care?" Derek asked.

Stiles dragged a hand down his face. "We are _so_ getting you therapy."

"Right now?"

"No, idiot. _After_ you introduce me to multiple orgasms." Stiles threw himself bridal-style at Derek.

Thankfully, Derek caught him.

"So, big boy." Stiles fluttered his lashes. "Your place or mine?" Very deliberately, he rubbed his naked tits against Derek's chest, delighting in the zing of pleasure that shot to his groin.

"Could you at least put some clothes back on first?" Scott whined, red all the way up to his hairline. "And Jesus, Stiles, not _here_."

"Definitely not here." Lydia wrinkled her nose. "You do _not_ want anything crawling up inside you. And just a suggestion," she added. "Werewolves are _fantastic_ at cunnilingus."

Derek shifted his grip, cupping Stiles' ass as he said through gritted teeth, "We don't need help, Lydia."

Stiles squirmed, just to feel Derek's arms tighten around him. "The point of this is orgasms, dude."

"No. The point is _multiple_ orgasms. _Dudette_."

**  
**

* * *

 

8.

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Coffeeshop AU, with a side of Fluff, Pining, and Futurefic

Stiles had Derek's usual coffee -- black, _no, Stiles, I don't want the fancy crap_ \-- ready when he walked through the door.

Derek growled something that might have been _hello_ , paid for his standing order with a generous tip, and left without human conversation. He wasn't a morning person and he didn't have a structured day job to go to.

And yet, he was always the first person to show up for Stiles' ridiculously early morning shift.

##

September came with an abrupt change in schedule. Stiles warned his replacement that _tall, dark, and grumpy_ would come in as soon as the coffee shop opened.

"Your eye candy is hella hot," Cindy said later, when she handed off to Stiles for the afternoon, "But he was mad when I told him you changed shifts, and -- oh, look, here he comes now."

Derek barged into the shop like a man on a mission, stood in line with everyone else until it was his turn, and glared at Stiles as if Stiles had personally offended him.

There was coffee, a generous tip, and angry stalk out of the shop.

##

That was their new routine until the semester break in December. Christmas meant taking on double shifts during the dreaded late afternoon and evening rush hours. Stiles didn't mind so much if it meant he could afford presents for his dad, the pack, and one grumpy Sourwolf in particular.

"Um," Leigh said, tapping Stiles' shoulder with urgency. "I think you should take this one."

Derek stood at the counter, money in hand, looking as if he were about to wolf out. "Yeah, I'll take this one," Stiles said, letting Leigh make the low-fat caramel mocha for another customer.

Somehow, Stiles wasn't surprised to see Derek come in at midnight just before closing. Confused, yes, but not surprised.

##

"… no sense whatsoever," Stiles complained during a rare lull in customers. Scott gave him puppy eyes until Stiles sighed and refilled the hot chocolate, adding extra whip just because Scott had been listening to him gripe about Derek for the last fifteen minutes without complaint.

"You're right," Scott said. "It makes absolutely no sense. Derek doesn't even like coffee."

Stiles whirled, nearly dropping the cup. "He doesn't?"

"Not even a little bit. Hates the smell," Scott said. "Pretty sure he comes in to see you."

##

Stiles traded his second shift with Leigh and showed up at Derek's loft with two of the coffee shop's cardboard mugs. As soon as Derek opened the door, Stiles shoved one of them at him. "Drink it."

"No," Derek said, his nostrils wrinkling.

"Drink."

"I'll drink it later."

" _Drink_ ," Stiles said, watching with narrow eyes as Derek obeyed, sipping the coffee with a grimace. He sighed and took it away, replacing it with the second one. "Try this one."

Derek made the same wrinkled face before taking a sip, but this time his expression eased, pleasantly surprised. "Hot chocolate?"

"You should read the menu sometime," Stiles said. He rocked back on his heels, hesitant. "Or you could look at the special menu and ask me out and spend your coffee fund on me, instead."

Derek's eyebrows rose to his hairline, but there was a tiny curve of a smile, and his eyes were bright and happy.

##

It was summertime and back to the usual schedule. Derek still came in first thing in the morning, continuing his cute grumpy curmudgeon act and stomping his way over to the register.

"Your usual?" Stiles asked.

Derek grunted, knuckling an eye. His hair stuck up on one side. He was adorable. "Should've stayed in bed with me," he complained.

"Come over here," Stiles said. "I've got something that'll wake you up."

Derek trudged around the counter, not even questioning what Stiles was doing. Stiles shoved Derek against the cappuccino maker and dropped to his knees, making short work of opening Derek's jeans. "Stiles, what are you --"

"Commando, really?" Stiles raised a brow before shrugging. "Well, that'll make things easier."

Derek yelped when Stiles swallowed him whole, working him up to full hardness in a matter of seconds. Derek hissed, "This isn't on the menu!"

Stiles sucked Derek a few times before popping off obscenely. " _Special_ menu."

"I'd better be the only person to -- _holy God_ \--"

Stiles gave Derek as innocent a look as he could manage through his eyelashes, and proceeded with the Good Morning special.

 

* * *

 

9.

 **Warnings:** Human/robot sex, robot/robot sex

 **Pairing:** [everyone but Danny is a robot] Danny/Jackson (Derek/Stiles, Scott/Stiles, Aiden/Ethan, Jackson/Stiles)

 **Chosen Trope:** [Robots](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Robots)

Danny has been making robots since he was nine years old, using the spare parts he'd found in his dad's shed. At the age of twelve, he created his first humanoid robot, J4XON, who was based on his best friend. Even though he's the oldest model in the collection, Danny's continued to upgrade him with the best hardware and the most intelligent system; he'll never admit it out loud, but J4X0N is his favourite, and he always will be.

It was natural to create Lydia next. Danny couldn't give a damn about girls, but Jackson was always vying to impress her. Personally, Danny used to think it was a lost cause, but if he ever told Jackson, his smug ego would be _unbearable_. Anyway, it seemed logical to re-create a woman next, and Danny secretly enjoyed the challenge of copying fourteen-year-old Lydia's strawberry-blonde hair and feminine curves onto LYD14.

Danny only makes Stiles next because he won't stop _pestering_ him. Danny is pretty sure Stiles is gay, but the notion makes him feel conflicted; Stiles is irritating at the best of times, but he has a distracting laugh, and constellation-like skin, and a mouth with an obvious oral fixation.

Stiles' mouth would be great at sucking dick, Danny thinks, as he smooths the perfect replica that is ST1L3's skin across the thigh.

Which is how Danny finds himself building Scott McCall, because him and Stiles are attached at the hip, and Danny has always thought their bromance was so inflated they may as well drop the 'B'. It's too hard to resist it, then - telling SC00T to jerkily place a hand on ST1L3's shoulder and push him down to his crotch.

(Danny's a perfectionist, and he's pretty sure he's got their dick sizes right; he's been subtly researching during lacrosse rehearsals in the changing room.)

By then, Danny's sixteen and he knows what he likes. When he meets Derek Hale, he instantly purchases new parts and spends every moment of his spare time reconstructing those cheekbones. D3R3K is certainly his most sophisticated creation yet, and Danny tests him out by ordering him to slide his fingers up his ass, wetting it with lube as his other hand slowly jerks off his hard, artificial dick. Danny watches D3R3K move and doesn't look away once.

No one ever finds out about his hobby. None of his exes, including Ethan, have a clue. By the time Aiden and Allison have died, and Ethan's left town, Danny has a model robot of most of them: ALL14, 3TH4N, A1D3N, K1R4Y, M4L1A - not that girls are ever more interesting to play with, but they're fun to make. With Jackson in London and Ethan gone with his grief, Danny has a lot of time to kill.

It doesn't feel weird, after making ST1L3 suck SC00T's dick, to watch SC00T angrily making out with J4X0N, or D3R3K fucking ST1L3 into the carpet, or even 3TH4N and A1D3N fingering each other messily. They're robots, they're not real; it's not like they can come, and to Danny, it's his version of live porn - what he would otherwise imagine in his mind becoming real in an entirely artificial sense. He doesn't feel a single shred of guilt at all.

The first time Danny questions himself, J4X0N has just eaten ST1L3 out, and he reaches for Danny. Danny immediately bats him away, staring at the distracting scar on J4X0N's hip that is an echo of the real-life model. "I didn't ask you to do that," Danny says.

After six years together, J4X0N seems to have learnt to override orders - which should frighten Danny, but he's so used to it now, he doesn't even react when J4X0N's arm returns to hover over Danny's neglected erection. "You want me to," he says, in the perfect imitation of Jackson's voice - the only one in the collection who can speak, after years of recording.

Danny looks at J4X0N's hand, centimetres from his dick. It looks real, and Danny knows it feels real, and really, what's the difference between this and a casual hand job in the back of a seedy club? What's the difference between this and closing your eyes to pretend it's a guy when it's actually a girl?

So Danny nods, and J4X0N's hand closes around his dick and starts to pull, and within minutes Danny is gasping, "Shit, shit, _Jackson_ ," and comes whilst staring into his best friend's eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

10.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

 **Chosen Trope:** Fake Relationship, Bound Together, Sex Pollen, First Time, Celebratory Kiss (Mention of: Bodyswap, Tentacles, Magical Healing Cock, Barista AU, Road Trip)

“No, wait, that was after the alpha told us she didn't believe we were a couple,” Stiles corrected himself as he stepped over Scott, who was sprawled out on Derek's area rug, on his way back to the couch.

“No it wasn't,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles around the waist and pulling him into his lap.

“Yes it was! Remember? She said she was going to make us do that tentacle thing to prove it.”

“No, she was talking about the coniugis corpus ritual.”

“Oh, you're _right_. The tentacle thing came up _after_ we got out of the woods.”

“What's the 'coniugis corpus' ritual?” Allison asked.

“Well, you get put into this trance, and once you're deep in meditation, your spirit leaves your body. The theory is that it will only go into the body of your true mate,” Derek explained.

“That's awesome. We should totally do that,” Scott said to Allison, who beamed back at him.

“What's the tentacle thing?” Isaac questioned.

“You don't want to kno--” Derek started.

“Ever see a double-sided dildo?” Stiles asked. “It's like that only there are more sides. For _all_ your holes.”

Isaac paled. “Why is that a thing?”

“That one I've never understood,” Derek said with a shudder. “But their pack seems to love it.”

“I still don't understand how this led to the Sheriff finding you having sex,” Lydia insisted.

“Back up. I still don't understand how the alpha didn't think you were a couple,” Erica added.

“We weren't actually a couple then!”

Erica and Boyd exchanged a look that Stiles didn't miss.

“We _weren't_.” Stiles huffed and settled back on Derek's lap. “Anyway, they finally decided that the best test would be to tie us together and leave us for dead in the woods.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It wasn't a test, and they weren't leaving us for dead. It was a bonding exercise. She wanted to see how well we worked together. They would have released us as soon as we made it to the other side of the woods.”

“Would have?” Lydia prompted.

“Well, uh, someone may have tripped and triggered a sex pollen cloud.” Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, who forged on. “Whatever is in that stuff dissolved the magical binds, and the next thing I know, Derek is tearing off my clothes and throwing me onto the ground all manly like and ravishing my virgin body.”

“What really happened is that Stiles stripped off all his clothes and started to climb me like a tree,” Derek explained.

“Whatever. Then Derek got me on my hands and knees, and he started licking around my butthole.” Stiles dodged the pillow Isaac threw at him. “Is that a wolf thing? A gay thing? Because it feels fucking incredible, and you should all start doing it now if you aren't.”

Stiles looked pointedly around the room at all the blushing werewolves and their respective sex partners before continuing. “We didn't have lube or anything so he got me really wet with his tongue and stretched--”

“Stiles, you really don't have to give us the details,” Scott said.

“Yeah, Stiles,” Derek said with a smirk. “You _really_ don't have to tell them about how you complained about it hurting until I got the angle right, and then you couldn't shut up about my magical healing cock.”

“Oh my god! Would you both stop!” Erica shrieked.

“Well, I for one would enjoy hearing about the money shot,” a voice piped up from the corner.

A chorus of “Peter!” and “Gross!” rang through the room.

“I know your dad didn't catch you in the middle of a sex pollen trap.” Scott accused. “He said he found you in the Jeep parked at Java Den.”

“Oh,” Stiles blushed. “Right. That.”

Derek cleared his throat but made no move to respond.

“We were so, um, happy we survived the whole ordeal that we had celebration sex.”

“At Java Den?”

“It was a long drive back, and I had a shift in an hour,” Stiles said with a shrug and a grin. “Best end to a road trip ever. Right, Der?”

Derek pulled Stiles even closer and hid his smile in the crook of Stiles' neck.

 

* * *

 

 

11.

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Pairing:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

 **Chosen Trope:** Skin hunger

It's not a big deal for Stiles to touch to give comfort. He moves so much that he thinks it's obvious that stopping to put a hand on a shoulder or to give a hug has to mean more from him than most people. He doesn't think about it that much, though, until after the latest mess where he nearly dies and he shares hugs with everyone. Well, everyone but Derek. Derek puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder and gives him a look that isn't a frown or a sarcastic smile, and it's more than Derek has ever really given him other than slamming him into things, and Stiles has to think about why it feels so strange that _that_ is the touch that means the most. It's because Derek isn't really a toucher at all except in the case of violence, and yet he has never pushed Stiles away when he's gone to touch him. And if he thinks about it, no one else really bothers with touching Derek.

Stiles takes it upon himself to correct that injustice by starting to touch Derek more often. He nudges against him when they're standing side by side, sits down just a little too close next to him on the couch, and doesn't bother to hold himself back from the shoulder touches and half-hugs that he gives everyone else.

It takes a month before Derek finally touches him back in some kind of meaningful way, and it's to keep him from leaving with everyone else after a discussion about an omega someone smelled in town. Stiles waves off Scott and closes the door, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "What's up?"

Derek looks at him like he's lost for a moment before he clenches his hands in fists. "Why do you keep touching me?"

"Because you look like you're starving for it." Stiles shrugs and clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't know if it's just because you're a born werewolf and you're used to puppy piles or whatever and now you're not getting that, but it's obvious that it's something you need. I can help that, so I am."

"Puppy piles?" Derek manages to glare effectively for all of two seconds before he seems to fall back into confusion. "It's not a wolf thing. It's just a 'my family' thing. Peter and Cora were never big into hugging and touching, but everyone else was. I've tried not to, but I miss it."

With a nod and a deep breath, Stiles opens his arms and wraps them around Derek, pulling him into a tight hug that's returned almost immediately. It's a good hug, strong and tight, but careful of pesky things like ribs and kidneys. Combined with the scrape of Derek's stubble against his jawline, Stiles feels his body start to react and pulls his hips back slightly because it definitely isn't a time for awkward boners. When Derek pulls away, Stiles gives him a broad smile. "Any time you need to be touched, buddy, just come to me."

Derek licks his lips and lets his eyes follow down Stiles' front. "Just hugs?"

Stiles freezes. "If you want. Or more. I've got a lot of love to go around."

If he'd known the look Derek was going to give him was going to be the first step toward forever, he would have tried to memorize it. But, he does remember the look Derek gives him when he shows up in his room the next night before they exchange sloppy kisses and dry handjobs. The cuddling that comes afterward is intense, but good. And it's the start of something that both of them need. When it comes to things like this, they're both bad with words, but Derek feeds off of Stiles' touch and Stiles feeds off of knowing he's being useful. Somewhere down the line, they might even learn to call it love.

12.

 **Warnings:** none

 **Pairing:** Deucalion/Lydia/Peter

 **Chosen Trope:** Snowed in, also: huddling for warmth

Here lies Lydia Martin.

Stiles, Scott, Allison and Isaac looked down on the gravestone with grief-stricken expressions.

“I told you,” Stiles suddenly said. “We should’ve put Peter back into the ground sooner.”

“Or cremated him,” Allison added.

Isaac grinned darkly. “That would’ve been oddly fitting.”

Scott sighed, a reminder to everyone not to overdo it. He could sense something watching them. They needed to be convincing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deucalion’s return had been different than anticipated. He’d warned them about the cult out for Lydia’s blood. When they had struck, he’d saved her, and forced Peter into this scenario where he killed her, and Deucalion killed him. The three of them were supposed to join Cora and Derek until the cult members were all arrested, but Lydia felt getting snowed in together like this had been his plan all along.

Lydia hated making her parents think she was dead, but the arrangements had been made while she was unconscious. As long as she was believed dead, her parents were out of harm’s way, too, so there was little point in protesting.

After two weeks in close proximity with the two homicidal werewolves, though, Lydia trusted them even less than before. Moreover, she didn’t trust herself with them.

There was something about the way Peter constantly complimented her that made her body react in a way she didn’t want it to. Deucalion’s behaviour was completely contrary to what she had been told it would be. His voice, his calm confidence, and that body of his made her thoughts drift toward naughtiness all the time.

To distracting herself, Lydia spend the days sitting in front of the fireplace, reading books and watching Deucalion and Peter bond over the “went crazy --got a bit better” experience, getting along better every day. The fire heating up the cabin was enough for them, but she felt the chill setting in more with each passing day.

At night the fire would die out, the wood gleaming in the dark for hours. Deucalion slept on soft furs in front of it, Peter took the couch and Lydia the bed. Eventually, the cold was enough to make her shivering audible one evening.

“Need another blanket?” Deucalion inquired.

Lydia pursed her lips, knowing another clammy blanket wouldn’t help; she needed more to feel warm again. “No, but...” she sighed --a terrible and yet tempting idea coming to mind. “...I could use a body or two to warm me up.”

She didn’t need to wait long, before Deucalion slipped under the covers, disturbingly naked, drawing Lydia close to him. She hadn’t heard either of them undress but Peter was also naked when she felt him leaning on her backside. Their hard, muscular bodies radiated much-needed warmth.

Lydia sighed and pressed herself closer into Deucalion, feeling him grow hard against her thigh. Peter was already hard, when he brushed against her butt. It wasn’t the kind of warming up, she had pictured, but Lydia liked their vision better.

Peter cupped her breasts, his fingers firmly pressing into them, while Deucalion roughly grabbed her butt. She let out a moan, amazed how aroused she was so quickly. It had been a while for her, and even longer since she had been with someone who actually knew how to handle her, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

“Feeling warmer?” Deucalion mocked her. “Peter, why don’t you strip her?”

Peter’s claws dug into her nightgown, slowly ripping it so her breasts spilled out. Normally, she’d protest, but as pretty as the gown was, it hadn’t been keeping her warm, and feeling her naked nipples grow firm against Deucalion’s warm, hard chest was more than making up for the loss.

As the rest of her gown was being peeled off, Lydia felt Deucalion’s hands exploring her exposed skin --he moved on top of her and began sucking on a nipple. Normally, she wasn’t into men who took charge like this, but in this situation, she understood it all too well, just as Peter did: Deucalion was the alpha.

He turned to Peter. “Don’t sulk. If she wants you to, you can join in later.”

The thought of doing it right next to Peter was making her feel deliciously naughty and perfectly wet. Lydia smiled as she wrapped her legs around Deucalion, grinding herself against his cock. Hearing the slight disappointed groan from Peter, she laughed and turned her head toward him. “I don’t know --maybe,” Lydia teased, wishing she could see Peter’s face in the dark.

 

* * *

 

 

13.

 **Warnings:** canon character death mentioned

 **Pairing:** Alan Deaton/Chris Argent

 **Chosen Trope:** Evil Twin

Alan thought it was amusing that the biting always got Chris. Maybe it was the sense of the taboo, the relation to the enemy that made the hunter so susceptible to it. Alan would not complain; it gave him a quick way to have the hunter make the rough, breathless noises Alan liked as he stroked them, squeezing their manhoods together. His teeth pressed into Chris’ pale flesh, still holding him by the neck with his mouth as Chris came over his fingers.

Chris went to his knees to help Alan finish. Despite Alan’s nerves being taut as bowstrings since this morning, his mind went pleasantly blank for a moment.

Alan needed a tissue for his hands, but Chris had cleaned him up pretty well. As he pulled up the zipper of his trousers, he glanced at Alan from the corner of his eyes.

“So what’s going on?”

Alan didn’t bother denying that by tearing Chris’ clothes off the moment he entered the Animal Clinic, he had attempted to soften a blow that was coming. It was disappointing Chris had realised so quickly, but he had grown up around Gerard and managed to make it through childhood as a decent human being. One couldn’t expect him to be too easily manipulated.

“My twin is going to pay Beacon Hills a visit.”

Chris stared.

“Repeat that.”

“You heard me the first time. My twin brother and the pack he serves are going to arrive in town.” Alan inclined his head. “I need your help containing them. I know for a fact my brother has helped the alpha kill two betas in the last three years. They are a vicious pack focused on efficiency and territory and I fear they want to include Beacon Hills.”

“You have a twin?!” Chris slapped his hand down on the metal operating table that stood in the middle of the room. “You don’t think you could’ve informed me a little earlier than ‘almost too late’ for once?!”

“This from the man who took seventeen years to tell his daughter about his job,” Alan said calmly.

Chris scoffed. “Not the same situation.”

After a long, measured breath, the hunter straightened his shoulders and stared off into a corner, brows knit as Alan could almost hear the gears turning in his head, Chris’ mind having moved on to the problem at hand. The veterinarian thought they worked well together in all ways. Chris knew how to quickly react to unexpected circumstances and Alan found himself providing them quite often.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” Chris said gruffly. “Your sister knows about this?”

Alan nodded his head.

“Is she going to come back to Beacon Hills?”

“She says no, but perhaps she will,” Alan said, combining her words with what he realistically knew Marin to act like. “In her position as a counsellor, she suggested you might like it. ‘Twins is a common fantasy’ is what she said, I think,” Alan added with a hint of a smile.

Chris raised a brow at him. “I find it difficult enough to handle one of you. You’re going to close up and move in with me and Isaac for the time they’re here, right?”

Alan wasn’t often surprised, but he was grasping for an answer and failing for a moment.

“I’m safe here, you know that.”

“This is not bad, but there is strength in numbers. Besides, you said your brother is a druid, too. Mountain Ash won’t keep him out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“If you want my help, you’ll have to take it,” Chris said.

The druid stood still, deliberating, switching out in his mind the solitary existence after the Hale pack’s demise against a spot in the very family responsible for their deaths. For a moment, a seed of anger wanted to grow in him. Then he looked at Chris, though, who’d lost everything and yet was too responsible to leave Alan here, drawing himself into the conflict from the first moment just to keep him safe.

“I guess I could use a change of tapestry.”

 

* * *

 

 

14.

 **Warnings:** Mild violence/abuse and character death

 **Pairing:** None

 **Chosen Trope:** Rentboy/Hooker AU

His mom dies first. And then his dad dies in a blaze of gunfire. Melissa tries to take him in but there’s a shuffle of paperwork and something about something or other and he’s shipped off to a boy’s home three days after the funeral. Kicking his suitcase under his bed, Stiles looks around at the other sad sacks and flops back on the bed.

“Lights out at ten-thirty and hide any candy you don’t want stolen.”

Stiles sits up and looks at the dude directly across the aisle. He’s big and black but has kind eyes. Deciding to give his new life the benefit of the doubt for ten seconds, Stiles nods.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Jackson’s a dickhead and will steal your shit.”

“Noted,” Stiles replies.

That night he ignores the strange sounds and doesn’t think about the tears running down his face.

***

Two months in, he’s broke, without the Jeep and Scott hasn’t been to see him in three weeks. He’s donated plasma for a meager sixty bucks a pop. When Jackson comes rolling up in a hot looking black crotch rocket, Stiles nods from his spot on the steps.

“How in the fuck can you afford that?”

Looking right and left, Jackson pops Stiles upside the head. “Shut up, man.”

Jackson walks up the stairs while Stiles rubs the sore spot on his head. “Dickhead.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Stiles exclaims, popping up. Jackson gives him an up and down assessing look. But he opens the door for Stiles so Stiles figures he couldn’t have fucked up too bad with the GQ wannabe.

Later on, Boyd hands Stiles a blue pill to help him sleep. Stiles tucks it under his pillow with the other six that he already has there. He’ll need to find a new hiding place for ‘em later on, but right now, his hand wraps tight around them and he holds onto the only tangible bit of friendship he’s got in this place.

***

He watches a bunch of them sneak out of their second story window. Jackson’s bringing up the rear and he’s almost out of the window when he pauses and backs up.

“C’mon, Stillinski.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Out. We’re going out,” Jackson grinds out. “Wanna find out where I get the money for that crotch rocket?”

He does. Anything sounds more exciting than lying awake night after night looking for anything to make his miserable existence more bearable.

“I’m in.” Sliding his feet into his chucks, Stiles stands up. “Let’s go.”

***

That night it begins. He sucks the guy’s dick like it’s no big deal and when they crawl back through the window that night, he’s fifty bucks richer.

He still throws up in the bathroom. Boyd hands him a washcloth and a small smile.

***

After that, it’s not so bad. It’s not so good either. The guy behind it is some seedy skeevy looking old man who Stiles hopes he never has the misfortune to be alone with. He takes orders from ‘Miguel’ (and if that’s the guys real name, Stiles will eat his left fucking shoe).

Stiles fucks guys and fucks girls. He gets fucked by both too (who knew blue dildos were a thing?).

He drops out of school and soon he and Boyd have enough money for a shithole of their own. He’s eighteen now so it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

***

Stiles goes on a call with Miguel (who happens to drive a bad ass black camaro). Waving at the window, Stiles hustles up to the hotel room. The guy is nice enough for the most part and Stiles thinks about other things when the guy slides a finger in and another. He thinks of the smell of cinnamon rolls and bacon in the morning. Making all the right noises, Stiles closes his eyes when the guy shoves his dick in. Grunting slightly, Stiles ignores the pain because he’s back on the lacrosse field with Scott and Isaac.

“So good, so good,” Stiles says, digging his fingers into the guy’s ass.

The guy comes with a stuttering breath after he slams Stiles head into the headboard. It hurts a little and he’s too busy rubbing the top of his skull to notice the guy’s fist. It plunges Stiles into darkness almost immediately.

***

Miguel takes him to the hospital and doesn’t say what happened. Looking up into Melissa McCall’s face, Stiles loses it.

“Come home, Stiles. Just come home.”

He just might do that. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good.

 

* * *

 

 

15.

 **Warnings:** power imbalance, D/s tones, consent isn't stated but is freely given

 **Pairings:** Chris/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Military AU

"Sailor."

The address sent a shiver of want down Derek's spine. He came to attention beside his bunk.

"Sir."

Commander Argent stalked closer, and Derek couldn't move. He felt naked even in his uniform from the burning once-over Argent gave him.

"Face your bed, sailor."

"Yes, sir."

"Arms up."

Derek stretched his arms across the top of his bunk, knees hitting the edge of the bed beneath his, and twisted his fingers into the freshly laundered sheets he'd just put on.

"Let's see how good you've been today," Argent said, a hint of a tease hidden in the gravely tones of his voice.

Derek had been good, wouldn't have been able to stop himself under any circumstance. The mere thought of Argent's disappointment made his insides twist uncomfortably.

Though he expected the touch, Argent's hands on his belt still made Derek tense for a split second. Argent chuckled.

"Are we nervous or eager, sailor?"

"Both, sir. You didn't close the door."

"I guess we'll just have to be quick then, won't we?" Argent whispered in Derek's ear. Argent's heat against his back, his very much non-regulation beard scratching at Derek's neck, the smooth, sure movements of his hands at Derek's zipper, all served to calm Derek's aching nerves.

Soon enough, Argent's hand was pushing down the back of Derek's trousers. Derek's cock came free when Argent yanked them down just below his ass, sticking straight out at attention. Argent pulled Derek's cheeks apart, exposing his hole to the open air and Argent's critical eye, his thumbs just teasing the rim. Derek barely held back the moan that wanted to burst from his chest.

"God, you're so good at following orders," Argent said as he slipped his thumb into Derek's ass with ease. "Did you skip breakfast just so you could stay in here alone and fuck yourself open for me?"

And Derek was so fucking grateful his response wasn't necessary, because he didn't know how to speak anymore. Argent had slipped his other thumb into Derek's ass and was slowly stretching him open.

"Did you start to finger yourself open before you even got out of bed? I bet you got two fingers in this perfect ass before anyone else even woke up, didn't you?"

How Argent knew his every move, Derek could never guess. He had started fingering himself while everyone was asleep. But then someone's alarm went off and Derek couldn't move--he'd just laid there with his fingers in his ass and his cock dripping all over his sheets while two dozen sailors got up and dressed and headed to the canteen.

"And I know you didn't come," he continued, and squeezed the head of Derek's cock, "because you're so hard right now, a stiff breeze could make you pop."

He took a deep, thoughtful breath as he released Derek's cock. "If you can come while I fuck you, go ahead, and come anytime. No hands. If you don't come, well, that's just too bad. You'll have to wait. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Such a good, obedient boy," Argent said as he slid his cock into Derek's asshole in one long stroke.

There was no hesitation; Argent pulled out as quickly as he'd pushed in, and fucked Derek with long, deep, sure thrusts that barely grazed Derek's prostate.

But that didn't matter. He'd been on edge for nearly two hours now, waiting for everyone to leave, for Argent to show, feeling lube trickle down his leg and hoping it didn't seep through his pants. Shoving his face into the mattress, he bit his sheets and came, his whole body twitching and spasming with the release.

Argent tightened his grip on Derek's waist, digging his fingers into Derek's sides, and God how he hoped he would bruise.

It only took a few more rough thrusts into Derek's willing asshole before Argent stilled, buried as deep inside Derek as possible.

"So good. So fucking good," he muttered into Derek's back.

Too soon for Derek's liking, Argent pulled back, his dick slipping free. Despite the burning in his muscles from stretching at such an awkward angle, Derek didn't move.

He heard Argent zipping up and moving toward the door.

"Derek," he called, and Derek's head snapped up. "On deck in twenty minutes. And you might want to change McCall's sheets. You made a mess."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

16.

 **Warnings:** underage

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** de-aging/aging-up

They're making out in Stiles' Jeep when it happens.

*

Stiles moans, spreading his knees as far as he can on the backseat, grinding his hard dick down against Derek's. Derek's mouth is on his neck, sucking a hickey into his skin, and Stiles is so close to coming he could cry.

"Would you –" he gasps, "would you let me fuck you?"

Derek makes a noise, releasing Stiles' neck. "Maybe. When you're older."

He's teasing, Stiles can tell he's teasing, which means _yes, Derek would absolutely let Stiles fuck him_ , and Stiles comes with a hoarse cry, hips hitching and fingers twisting in Derek's shirt. Derek groans beneath him, hands clutching at Stiles' hips as he pushes his own up, up, up, coming just a moment later.

Stiles attributes the bright white light to an amazing orgasm.

*

They find the witches fifteen minutes later, and he fails to connect the two.

*

He stays with Derek at his loft that night because his dad is working and he sleeps better when they're in the same bed. When he wakes up he groans and stretches, his voice sleep-rough and lower than usual.

"Oh god."

Stiles grins and blinks his eyes open, ready to tease Derek about being turned on by just his voice. Except the Derek looking back at him is decidedly not the Derek he went to sleep beside. He's obviously younger – about seventeen, clean shaven, and more wiry than built. Drawing in a sharp breath, Stiles does a quick count of his fingers.

Ten. He's awake, and a glance around tells him he's still in the loft.

"Why, uh –" His voice is still a little lower and he clears it. "Why do you look my age?"

Derek shakes his head. "Why do _you_ look twenty-five?"

Stiles' eyes widen and he scrambles up and to the bathroom. Sure enough, his reflection is several years older than it should be – he's more filled out, a tiny bit taller, and he's sporting some solid morning scruff.

"Huh."

"I think it was the witches," Derek says from behind him, and Stiles catches his reflection in the mirror.

Derek is just as naked as he was when they fell asleep, and despite the weird circumstances his dick is half-hard. Stiles feels his own dick start to fill in response, and turns to drag his gaze up Derek's newly-teenaged body.

"You know," Stiles says, grinning slowly, "you did say I could fuck you when I was older."

Derek's gaze goes dark, and he starts backing up towards the bed. He smirks, and it's just as smug and glorious as ever. "I did, didn't I?"

"Fuck," Stiles mutters, following quickly.

Derek grabs the lube from the nightstand and tosses it at Stiles before scrambling onto the bed face first, ass in the air. "Come on," he breathes, dick hanging heavy between his legs. "I've been thinking about your dick inside me for months now."

Stiles groans and coats his fingers with a generous amount of lube. "I want to rim you later, okay? However we are, I want to get my mouth all over you."

He doesn't give Derek a chance to react, sliding a slick finger into him. "Jesus," Stiles breathes. "You're so fucking tight."

He fingers Derek open quickly – werewolf healing is truly an amazing thing – and pours more lube into his hand to slick his dick with. When he has the tip of it pressed against Derek's hole, he pauses.

"You'll let me do this again, right? When we're back to us?"

Derek looks at him over his shoulder, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. "Of course I will. I love – I love it this way."

Stiles swallows and nods. "Good, because I'm not going to last very long."

He pushes in slowly, eyes rolling back at the tight, tight heat. Derek whimpers, rocking back against him, and it's mind-blowing how little time it takes for Stiles to be fucking hard into his ass and coming, coming, _coming_.

Derek is still hard when Stiles pulls out, so he flips him over, shoves three fingers into his loose, wet hole, and swallows his dick down as far as he can. Derek wails, one hand gripping Stiles' hair and holding him in place as he fucks up into his throat. Stiles groans, twisting his wrist until his fingers find and rub against Derek's prostate. Derek comes hard and Stiles swallows it all down.

They're going to have so much fun.

 

* * *

 

 

17.

 **Warnings:** none

 **Pairing:** Sterek

 **Chosen Trope:** fake relationship/amnesia

“Oh my god, dude, we're going to be the best at being married. For justice.”

They snickered and high-fived as Scott rolled his eyes at them. Derek laughing was still so rare that Stiles' stomach lurched. Maybe this wasn't Stiles' brightest idea but it damn sure was gonna be fun.

-

The witch was not a figure of fun.

-

The old dude, some kind of Wicked cosplayer with too much power, threw a death curse and missed by a mile. Mostly because Scott had only shot him with tranquilizer and nicked his shoulder a bit, but dramatics seemed to come with the pointed hat.

Derek dragged Stiles to the jeep and they both collapsed at the loft out of habit. Now that their magical pest problem was solved, they'd go back to being uneasy friends in the morning and neither of them was particularly keen to hasten the process.

-

Stiles woke up knowing two things: that his name was Stiles and it wasn't actually his name.

The bed was nice and firm, an eight hundred dollar mattress that felt like heaven. The open loft apartment was a bit gothic for his taste, even though he couldn't remember his opinions on interior decoration in any detail. He just knew that that hole in the wall had to be some kind of statement of existential ennui.

The dude behind him on the bed with the vise-like grip and the morning wood totally wasn't what he'd expect. The beard was more mountain man than urban hipster for one. And the smile, damn, the smile was its own special category.

“Hello gorgeous, I have no idea who you are but I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He leaned over for a kiss because, and he'd swear this for the rest of his life, it felt like he'd done it a thousand times.

-

They kissed until his mountain man pushed him gently into the bed and smiled with a little confused, searching look on his angular face. “Who are you?” It wasn't said with any amount of suspicion, just mild wonder.

Stiles shrugged. “No idea. Does it matter?”

“I think my name is Derek.”

Stiles grinned. Derek. “I'm Stiles, though don't ask me why I'd be called something like that. It sounds ridiculous.”

Derek brushed his thumb over Stiles' cheek. “It suits you.”

-

Stiles found the pictures on their phones, the mix-and-match magazines under the bed – Derek sniffed out the clothes belonging to Stiles, the toothbrushes, all the small detritus of a life together. When Stiles looked at the ugly as hell floral print hand towels, he had a flash of memory, standing in Bath, Bed and Beyond with his arm around Derek and laughing at the selection of old lady patterns.

They bought them anyway because they were soft as sin.

Stiles lifted his head to catch Derek watching him with a mischevious look on his face. “Dude, I think we're newlyweds.”

“I've got one better for you,” Derek grinned. Then he popped claws out of his fingers like daisies in spring.

“Holy shit.”

-

Stiles jumped him, literally. Just launched himself and trusted that Derek would catch him, kissing and biting and ripping at the few clothes they'd bothered to put on. “I bet you can hold me up and fuck me like this.”

Derek groaned. “You're a menace, how did I ever manage to fall in love with you?”

Stiles stilled, smiling. “Doesn't matter how, but you did.”

Instead of answering, Derek kissed him harder, holding him up with one palm spread beneath his ass and the other hand pulling at their pants. The cloth ripped with a comical sound and Stiles snickered. Derek made a face like he'd been there before.

Stiles gyrated his hips, grinding down against Derek's hardness. He leaned close to whisper in Derek's ear. “I've probably made you come like this a million times, just my voice and my hands all over you. I bet we fucked on every surface in this stupid loft.”

Derek whimpered, tensing like he'd been struck by lightning. “Stiles, god.”

-

Stiles had Derek's cock in his mouth when he remembered. His mouth went slack and he looked up at Derek, whose face looked exactly like his world had just shattered to pieces. Stiles gave him a small, wicked smile and licked his lips.

“Doesn't matter how,” he said, “but you did.”

Derek's hands shook, but he nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I did.”

 

* * *

 

 

18.

 **Warnings:** angst, grief/mourning, character death, non-linear storytelling

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** angst/darkfic/character death

Derek never forgets the beauty of his amber eyes, the way they light like dawn when he lies curled together with Derek. Stiles smiles impishly, fingertip grazing Derek’s chest. “Lie back. I want to take care of you.”

Derek stretches under Stiles’s hands, loving the way he barely touches him, setting his skin afire. Heat pools in his groin, his cock filling with blood. “Don’t stop,” Derek whispers. Begs. _Pleads_.

“Never,” Stiles vows. “I promise, Derek, I will never leave you behind. I am with you to death and beyond.” He wraps his hand around Derek’s cock and he can’t help but thrust into the warmth.

Derek wakes when he comes, body jerking into an unseen touch that strokes him through orgasm. Dried tears tug at his cheeks as he rolls over and tries to find Stiles’s scent in the pillow, the ghost of his touch stroking down his back.

#

“Don’t be such a scaredywolf.”

Derek catches his arm, holds Stiles back while the others move on. “Stiles—”

“I can take care of myself, big guy.” Stiles leans in, cups his hand at the nape of Derek’s neck. He holds him securely as he brushes lips to lips. Derek pushes closer, wanting more; Stiles doesn’t give it to him, stepping back with a small smirk.

“Save that thought,” Stiles orders. “Because that means we have unfinished business between us.”

“Something to come back to,” Derek finishes the thought, and Stiles grins.

“Exactly. No matter what we have to deal with, nothing can happen to either of us because there is _always_ another kiss to look forward to.”

Derek pulls him in, hand teasing across his crotch. “Another fuck,” he murmurs.

Stiles exhales roughly. “Exactly. Yes. Another fuck.” He kisses him once more. “For luck. Let’s go kick some demon ass.”

#

Derek hasn’t been in the locker room in years. The bench is cold beneath him and he shivers despite the warmth of a soft sweater and tattered jeans. Stiles stands nearby, arms crossed, rocking lightly on his feet as if he can’t stand still.

It’s _Stiles_. Of course he can’t stand still.

“Tell me again,” Stiles says.

“I have flashbacks, all the time,” Derek says quietly. “I remember things, and I can’t sort out what’s real and what’s not.”

“And you think I can help you?”

“You always do.” Derek slides off the bench, sinking to his knees; Stiles follows, one arm around his shoulder. Derek can smell body wash and deodorant and oil from the Jeep. He sucks it in, holding onto the air as if it sustains him.

“It’ll be okay,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek wants to believe him.

If only Stiles didn’t have six fingers on his hand.

#

“You think it’s funny.” Derek scrubs the towel through his hair, talking to the empty room.

“Fucking fairies and their sense of humor. Pink hair.” He snorts softly.

The door to the apartment squeaks open and closes with a thud. “Derek?” Scott calls out. “Are you talking to someone?”

Derek’s hand curls tight and he swallows his answer. “Just… no.” The touch to his shoulder helps him find his center. “Of course not, there’s no one here.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Scott nudges the door to the bathroom open, staring at Derek through the steam. “This was our first big pack problem, since—”

“I’m fine.” Derek waits a moment, repeats it firmly. “I’m _fine_.”

When Scott leaves, Derek turns back to the mirror, sees his hair—bright pink—sticking straight up. Ghostly fingers card through it, and he closes his eyes, leaning into the familiar touch.

#

“You _promised_ you would never leave me.” Derek’s voice catches, strangled and tight. He inhales the faint reminder of Stiles’s scent trapped in the fabric of the sofa. Tears squeeze out at the corners of closed eyes; he pushes at them, trying not to let go. Trying not to lose control.

 _Undress. Trust me_.

Derek pushes his jeans down, feels the ghost of a touch gentle on his cock, stroking while he gasps, refusing to open his eyes and see the truth of open air.

“I hear you.” Hips thrust, begging for more. “I dream about you. You talk to me and _touch_ me…” He groans, an unseen grip tight around the base of his cock. “I miss you.”

 _I haven’t left. I won’t, I promise. I’m with you until death and beyond_.

Derek comes with a shout, then curls into unseen arms that cradle him close while he cries.

 

* * *

 

 

19.

 **Warnings:** Slight BDSM, rough sex

 **Pairing:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

 **Chosen Trope:** Tail!fic, Magical healing cock

Someone suggests they fuck like rabbits, which makes Derek grin and Stiles grimace, but they end up tumbling in bed anyway because they’re still in that honeymoon phase, cursed or not.

There’s a thrum that fills Derek’s ears while his hands slide down Stiles’ back. The boy is naked beneath him, arching with panting breaths and low keening noises. Derek leans down and kisses speckled skin of his ass cheek, soft fur tickling his face, loving the way Stiles gasps.

“Derek,” he says in a soft needy voice. “Come on, just…” Derek wraps his hand around the brown bunny tail and tugs gently, just so, and Stiles groans. The thrumming is faster, the rabbiting heart escalated in anticipation. “ _Derek_.”

“My, what a cute tail you have,” he murmurs.

“All the better to tempt the wolf with, my dear,” Stiles responds, tone strained. He rolls his hips forward, grinding against the mattress, before Derek manhandles him to stand on his knees. Stiles hisses, “If you would _just hurry_ \--”

Derek smiles, his hands pulling Stiles’ ass cheeks apart, presenting the loosen and wet hole. “Now, what do you know about the tortoise and the hare?”

“Is this payback for all the jokes?” Stiles wonders aloud into the pillow. “A witch curses me and we all think this will be a wonderful way to get back at Stiles?” He yelps when the werewolf pulls on the stub of a tail again, harder, then groans when he firmly presses his thumb underneath it, above his hole.

“Oh God,” he breathes, hips rolling back against the pressure. “Oh, dude, I need… That, its just so-- won’t you just--”

Derek makes a sound that isn’t unlike a purr, his chest rumbling with a quiet, pleased sound at the incoherent mess. “Would you like me to fuck you, Stiles?” He takes one hand to stroke himself, wet with lube and saliva.

Stiles, in response, full-body shudders and the rabbit heart ticks up with speed. “Please, _please_ , I want you, please Derek!”

“How do you want me? Do you want me to just fuck you?” he asks, tone dark and lusting, sliding his cockhead up and down the crack of Stiles’ ass.

“D-deep, hard, f-fast,” Stiles says in gasps, “pull my hair, _fuck_ , pull my tail, _fuck--- fuck, just--_ knot me, _oh my God_ , I want you to fuckin’ knot me, Derek. Do-- _nnnnnghhh…_ ” Derek growls, eyes flashing blue, and presses into him without stopping, leaning forward to pull Stiles to him by wrapping his arms under him and gripping his shoulders.

Stiles is already so pliant and eager that Derek takes to thrusting into him hard. Stiles curves, leaning on his arms and hips pushing back to everything Derek gives him. During sex, they’re usually both silent save for grunts, moans, and sighs, but now, _now--_

“ _Derek_ ,” he whines softly, and Derek finds a hand beneath his chest and grips it tight. His other hand threads in his hair, holding. “ _Yes_ , give it to me, _give it--_ ” Derek jerks his head back, forcing Stiles to arch like a bow, and doesn’t that span of neck just give Derek the want to bite.

“Can I…?” Derek pants, thrusts speeding. He can feel Stiles’ legs moving from beneath him, knees crawling and spreading for him to get Derek deeper. He groans loud, “ _Stiles_ , fuck, just--- _fuck…_ ” He rubs against the speeding pulse point, feeling the thrumming on his lips.

“Anything, _anything_ ,” Stiles says like a plea and prayer, whispered.

Derek opens his mouth and bites, and he’ll swear he feels the tail twitch between them just a little, Stiles gasping and keening. He licks the red area before speeding up his thrusts, the want to come taking over him, and he starts angling his hips _just so_.

“Jesus, Jesus _fuckin’--_ ” Stiles bites his lip. Derek lets go of his hair, reaches between them and tugs his rabbit tail, fingers scratching through the fur, and Stiles tenses. He clenches hard around Derek’s cock, his fingers gripping Derek’s, with his mouth open in a silent yell as he comes untouched. Derek smells it, and it brings him close.

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that,” Stiles says, slurred. “You gonna knot me? See how my tail will look with your knot inside?”

Derek groans, “ _Yes…_ ” His knot begins swelling and soon he’s forced to stay inside, coming. He’s slowly fighting the haze when he notices the tail begin to disappear.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks later. “Magic cock does it again.”

 

* * *

 

 

20.

 **Warnings:** um...

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** cross-dressing

 

Derek answered the doorbell. He was in jeans and barefoot, putting the last of the dishes away. It was late, almost nine and he wasn’t expecting anyone.

Certainly not Stiles.

In a red cloak, with a hood pulled over his head.

“Trick or treat?” Stiles’ eyes twinkled and Derek wanted to respond to the mischief.

“It’s not Halloween,” he pointed out.

“Treat it is then.” Stiles pushed past him into the apartment, cloak swishing around his legs.

Derek closed the door, leaned back against it and folded his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles turned around slowly, the cloak fastened shut all the way to the floor. “Giving you a choice.”

Derek raised one eyebrow. “And that would be?”

“Do _you_ want to be the one who fucks me first or should I go out and find someone willing?”

Derek froze at the words. Stiles started pulling at the cloak, snaps popping open as he tugged. The scarlet fabric slid to the floor and Stiles stood in front of him.

Derek was moving before his brain caught up, on his knees, his mouth on the vulnerable skin between the top of the stockings and the edge of the leather corset.

Stiles staggered back, sucking in a gasp as Derek bit at his skin, hands coming up and shaping his ass. “So I’m taking that as a yes?” Stiles asked when Derek pushed him against the side of the sofa.

“Shut up.” Derek’s growl was feral, the wolf so close to the surface that it was scratching him bloody from the inside.

He pulled at the panties cupping Stiles’ cock and balls. He was salivating as he tugged them down. He barely noticed the stilettos as Stiles lifted first one foot and then the other.

He wasn’t sure who moaned the loudest when he put the sopping wet fabric in his mouth. The taste of Stiles exploded, hitting his lizard brain, announcing that this was mate, home, forever. _HIS_

He felt Stiles’ fingers in his hair, tugging hard as Derek ran a hand back up one long, slim leg to heft the weight of Stiles’ balls in the palm of his hand.

“God, fuck, Derek, god.” Stiles stumbled again, and Derek manhandled him towards the bedroom. He pushed Stiles in front of him, eyes locked to the curve of his ass as he wobbled in the ridiculous shoes.

Stiles faltered as the heel of one stiletto caught on the edge of the carpet. Derek grabbed him, shoved him face-first against the door and fell to his knees again.

He rubbed his face over the leather corset, let his hands run up and down the fishnet stockings and snapping the garter ties so that Stiles jerked in his grasp.

“Please,” Stiles begged so prettily as Derek spread his ass cheeks. Stiles’ hole was glistening and loose.

“You prepped yourself?” Derek could barely speak. His cock was like iron in his jeans.

“Boy scout.” Stiles trembled. For all his bravado, he was still a virgin. Derek wanted to take his time with him.

“Let’s take care of this.” Derek drove his tongue into the musky heat of Stiles’ body without warning. The yell that followed made him smile into Stiles’ skin.

“You’re _such_ an asshole.” Stiles was almost sobbing. Derek reached round him to wrap his fingers around Stiles’ cock.

Derek sucked at Stiles’ hole as he tugged on his dick. The combined stimulation sent Stiles shuddering.

“Fuck you. I’m not ready to come yet!” Stiles practically snarled at him.

Derek ignored him, pushing a finger into Stiles alongside his tongue. Stiles howled, arching up and back in one long, lovely line.

The heels made Stiles’ legs seem endless. The corset cinched in his waist, fooled the wolf into thinking that this pretty boy would be perfect for breeding.

He turned Stiles once more, stared up at him as he fed Stiles' cock into his mouth. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as he watched.

While he occupied Stiles with the sight in front of him, Derek sneaked his finger back into Stiles’ hole, pressing deep and true. He crooked it slightly, felt the give of flesh as Stiles jerked and came hot and bitter down his throat.

Stiles shuddered as Derek let him slip from between his teeth. “What big teeth you have, alpha.”

Always with the cocky comeback Derek thought.

“All the better to eat you with, Little Red.”

Derek let Stiles see the wolf behind his eyes and pounced.


	2. Group B (With Pairings & Warnings)

21.

 

**Warnings:** none

**Pairing:** Chris/Derek

**Chosen Trope:** Bodyswap

 

Chris leaned in close to the mirror, mesmerized by the hazel eyes looking back at him. He tilted his head to the left half expecting the reflection to stay still, but it moved with him. He ran his fingers down his stubble-covered jaw and watched the reflection do the same. The face under his fingers was as familiar to him as his own, but he'd never seen it from this perspective.

 

He looked down at his hand. The nails were blunt, but he knew that underneath the surface there were sharp claws just waiting to burst out. Chris concentrated on the nail, trying unsuccessfully to make it change.

 

"Stop it." Derek's voice was familiar but wrong. "The last thing we need is for you to transform."

 

Chris dropped his hand. Derek was right. Body swapping spells were bad enough without him going on a rampage because he couldn't control the wolf. That had probably been the warlock's goal, but Chris knew how to keep a tight rein on his emotions and thankfully he didn't feel any extra aggression or primitive impulses. He did feel a glorious lack of pain and a whole lot more flexible than he had this morning, though. Maybe he should thank the warlock for that.

 

He took a deep breath and turned around to look at Derek who was sitting on the bed. No matter how much supernatural shit he'd dealt with in his life it was still fucking weird to look at your own body from the outside. "How are you doing?"

 

Derek frowned, his eyebrows pulling down into an expression completely unfamiliar on Chris' face. "I've never been human. It's strange to feel this weak."

 

"Thanks," Chris said dryly. He turned back to the mirror and took off his shirt, exposing the body that he'd spent hours exploring from the outside. He brushed his thumbs over his nipples and shivered as they hardened into tight nubs. Derek always loved it when he did that and now he knew why.

 

"Having fun?"

 

Chris tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked back at Derek. He grabbed the fabric of his pants to keep himself from touching anything else without getting permission. "Do you mind?"

 

"Not as long as I can do the same."

 

"Of course," Chris said. "You can do anything to my body that you want. I trust you."

 

Derek smiled at him. "Good because I really want to get my hands on your dick."

 

Chris laughed. "Same."

 

"I trust you, too," Derek said softly. "You can masturbate or whatever you want to do."

 

"I think I'll take a long shower then." Chris loved Derek, but it was strange seeing his own body from the outside and he'd rather explore without that mindfuck in front of him.

 

Derek stood up and took off his pants. "Take your time."

 

Chris didn't waste any time stripping off the rest of Derek's clothes and climbing into the shower. He saved Derek's dick for last and by the time Chris had thoroughly explored the rest of Derek's body, he was painfully hard and the pink head of his dick was just peeking out of his foreskin.

 

Chris gently stroked the length of Derek's dick. He'd been circumcised as a baby and married to a woman for most of his adult life, so foreskin was still relatively new for him. Derek had had to teach him how to handle it and he was excited to actually see what it felt like first hand.

 

He gripped his dick harder and stroked down, hissing as the foreskin pulled back to reveal the helmet-shaped head underneath. He held the skin back and used his free hand to touch the exposed tip. A wave of overwhelming sensation hit him and he jerked his hand away. Derek was so much more sensitive than he was.

 

Chris resumed stroking his cock, fascinated by the slide of the loose skin. He took it slow, trying to better learn Derek's body so that he could give him an amazing hand job later. His plans were cut short when he slid his other hand back and pressed on his perineum. The sudden pleasure blindsided him and he came hard.

 

Thankfully the swap meant that Chris now had the refraction time of a twenty-five year old and could try again soon. Derek on the other hand had probably gotten in one good wank and fallen asleep.

 

Maybe he really should send that warlock a thank you card.

 

* * *

 

 

22.

 

**Warnings:** dubcon, frottage, oral sex, non-terran!sterek

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Fusion - Star Trek - pon farr

 

-

 

The man before him is crouched on all fours, snarling in his direction.

 

_Please_ , Stiles pleads, sending his thoughts to Derek while fending the waves of lust that threaten to bring him to his knees. _Control your anger_ , imzadi.

 

Derek squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears. “Don’t call me that! Stay away if you refuse me!”

 

“Derek,” Stiles says, calmly, “You need to see Deaton. It’s the _pon farr_ making you irrational.”

 

“I’m not even Vulcan, you little shit,” Derek barks, leaping forward, shoving Stiles into the shuttle wall. Without warning, he traces Stiles’ lips with his own, fingers gently cradling Stiles’ jaw. “I want you.”

 

He brings their hips together in a soft press. “For a Betazoid who relies on his empathic abilities for a living, you are terrible at it if you can’t. Feel. It.”

 

Stiles can’t say he didn’t wonder. He believed he could not be so lucky as to find a mate, even in his _imzadi_. Stiles’ resolve is weak on a good day, when Derek has on more than just his standard Starfleet issue trousers--but with Derek’s hot breath in his ear, every syllable punctuated with a hard grind against his cock, presented with Derek’s well-sculpted naked chest having stripped off his jacket and undershirt, skin glistening with the sweat and grime of their ballsed-up away mission... Forget it.

 

Stiles presses back, bringing his hand up to follow Derek’s forehead ridges, less pronounced than those of a full Klingon’s.

 

For all that Derek had Klingon blood in him, never once did Stiles think he could exhibit such raw ferality; the way he holds Stiles in place by the neck, using his mouth and tongue to mark sloppy, wet trails from Stiles’ face to shoulder.

 

_Imzadi. Listen to me_ , Stiles begs again as Derek nearly tears his shirt off his body, shouts aloud when Derek bites him right above his nipple. Hard.

 

_T’Jen passed on her blood fever when she forced you into a mindmeld!_

 

Immediately, Derek pushes him away and Stiles feels the loss, like a serrated knife is pulling out and gouging out the best of him.

 

Derek collapses into himself, huddling in the corner of the shuttlecraft, “I’m going out of my mind. I feel like my body is trying to crawl its way out of my skin, Stiles.” He slams a fist against the panel in front of him and Stiles holds a breath before realizing the shuttle has already made a crash landing today and there’s nothing they could reasonably do to damage it further. “And you’re telling me it’s--it’s because of a <i.”

 

“Yes. Just wait it out. We’ve sent the distress signal. Scott will have us out before it gets bad.” Stiles regrets the fib straightaway, feeling Derek’s anger go from fifty to a thousand in two nanoseconds flat.

 

“Before it gets bad!? Stiles, it is taking everything I have not to break and rut you right here and now, I am beyond bad.” Derek crowds Stiles backwards until he leans uncomfortably against their now defunct replicator. “You want it too,” Derek takes a deep inhale below Stiles’ ear, “I can smell it.”

 

The undertone of need becomes an overwhelming roar in Stiles’ body. Derek is the strongest person Stiles has ever met, that he is still able to restrain himself under such conditions. Stiles has no such compulsions.

 

“Derek, please, Derek, I can’t, I can’t--Derek!” Stiles claws his nails repeatedly down Derek’s back, scrambling his legs to find purchase, to make them one. The urge he knows is not his own burns, like a firestorm raging all along his insides. Stiles attempts to push out these feelings, tries to regain himself, but it’s useless. Derek is _imzadi_. They are beloved. They could not be unraveled from the other even if they were not overcome.

 

“This is the vulcan’s fault, but this will be on our term’s. This is for us. Say yes,” Derek stutters, releasing Stiles’ cock from its confines in his pants. Stiles nods ardently, feeling a fever build when Derek ruts their cocks together.

 

Derek whispers, “Come. Imzadi.”

 

And Stiles does, a sense of intense adoration washing over him as silky, white fluid splashes onto Derek’s stomach.

 

Stiles thrusts Derek to the ground and takes his release from him, in his mouth, Derek’s satisfaction surging and flowing through them both in an infinite circle of delight.

 

_We are one, beloved._

* * *

 

 

23.

 

**Warnings:** none

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Huddle for warmth

 

After the nogitsune, Stiles sleep walked. Most of the time he stayed in the house, his father finding him on the stairs, or in the laundry room with the door shut, standing there with his eyes closed. He woke with a start each time, surprised to find himself anywhere but his bed, afraid that he’d been possessed again.

 

He was sure of it.

 

Scott promised to sleep over, to watch him. The next morning, Stiles woke up in his own bed. Scott said he got up, walked around his room while talking about werewolf mating habits, then went back to bed. Stiles wasn’t possessed, he was over stressed, over stimulated. He needed sleep. The constant vigilance was taking a toll on his body.

 

Stiles was fine with it as long as he wasn’t going to be the prisoner of his own body again. He could handle walking around his house mumbling to himself about mating patterns. Well, he was fine until one night he went for a walk all the way into the preserve, barefoot.

 

He woke up screaming, with someone’s arms wrapped around him. As he fought against them, he could tell he wouldn’t be able to win.

 

“Please, please let me go.”

 

“Stiles, stop,” Derek said. Stiles’ knees gave out when he realized who it was, tears streaming down his face. He looked around, finding himself near the coyote den, where he had been found _before_. Stiles wiped at his face, looking up at Derek.

 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, his teeth chattering. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until that moment. His feet, too, hurt, were cut up from the trek through the woods.

 

“I should ask you the same thing,” Derek said, sighing. “You’re freezing.”

 

“No shit,” Stiles said as he let Derek help him to his feet. He winced, gritting his teeth as he took a step forward. “Ow, fuck.”

 

“Sit,” Derek said, putting a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder until he sat down. He was only in a pair of thin pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, nothing more. He could see his breath in the crisp night air.”Come here.”

 

Stiles didn’t protest as Derek pulled him close, his eyes wide as Derek wrapped his arms around him. Derek was only in a henley and jeans, not his usual leather jacket. Stiles wished he had the jacket.

 

“I called Scott when I picked up your scent. They should be on their way.”

 

“Hmm,” Stiles hummed, savoring Derek’s body heat, his eyes closing. He could feel the rise and fall of Derek’s chest, his heart beat against his cheek as Derek’s body heat helped keep him warm. Derek’s hot breath against his hair, stubbled cheek brushing against him, caught his attention as Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ feet. He was practically in Derek’s lap, clinging to him. Stiles moaned when Derek began leaching pain from him, his hands slowly massaging Stiles’ torn up feet. “How’d you know,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s chest, his fingers digging into Derek’s back as Derek slid his hand up Stiles’ calf, then back down to his foot again, his mouth ghosting across Stiles’ forehead as he tilted his head up, his lips finding Derek’s.

 

Derek’s lips were soft against his, his stubble biting as the kiss deepened.

 

“I’ve always been able to find you,” Derek confessed, his lips still pressed against Stiles’. Stiles shivered, but not from the cold. He smiled, kissing Derek once more.

 

“I’m cold,” Stiles said, pressing their bodies even closer, if that was even possible. Derek grunted, but his grip on Stiles’ tightened, his arms engulfing him. Stiles closed his eyes as his nose brushed over Derek’s, teasing him before kissing him once more.

 

“They’re here,” Derek whispered, his lips trailing down Stiles’ neck, mouth hollowed as he breathed Stiles in. “They’ll take you home.”

 

“I want you to take me home,” Stiles confessed as his father and Scott appeared. Derek smiled, kissing Stiles lightly on the forehead before helping Stiles to his feet once more.

 

* * *

 

 

24.

 

**Warnings:** N/A

**Pairing:** Jackson/Aiden

**Chosen Trope:** forced to share a bed

 

Jackson had woken up sometime during the night to arms wrapped around his waist and something hard poking him in his lower back. It took him a minute to realize where he was and who was behind him before he was shoving Aiden away and jumping off the bed. He was going to kill both Ethan and Danny for making him room with Aiden.

 

“What the hell?” Aiden asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“You ass.”

 

“What I do.”

 

“I just woke up and you were touching me!”

 

Aiden groaned and turned over, going back over to his side of the bed. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

 

“Then why were your arms around me?” Jackson asked. “And your dick pressed against me?”

 

“Cause I was having a very, very nice dream about a beautiful lady,” Aiden replied. “And then you had to go and ruin it.” Aiden sighed and grabbed his pillow hugged it to his chest. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”

 

Jackson slowly crawled back into bed and turned away from Aiden, trying to ignore the fact that Aiden’s body pressed against his had felt very, very nice. He glanced over his shoulder at Aiden who had fallen asleep again.

 

Jackson wasn’t going to lie, Aiden was attractive and he may or may not have had fantasied a couple times about him. The only issue was besides his body, Jackson didn’t like Aiden at all and the only reason they were sharing a bed was because Danny and Ethan refused to be separated.

 

He groaned slightly and adjusted his boxers. He couldn’t stop thinking about Aiden’s body pressed again him, and how he wanted Aiden’s cock. He shifted in the bed again, his cock brushing against the sheets sending pleasure shooting through him. He moaned without thinking and Aiden’s snores stopped a few seconds later.

 

“Are you-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Aiden rolled over. “You know, I could help you take care of that.”

 

“Thought you didn’t like me.”

 

“I don’t,” Aiden replied, his hand moving along Jackson’s waist and into his boxers. Jackson moaned again, bucking into the touch. “But we’re both stuck here with these awkward boners. Might as well help each other out, right?” Aiden dragged his teeth along Jackson’s shoulder, making him shiver. “what do you say?”

 

Jackson nodded and pushed his boxers down. Aiden let go of his cock and finished taking them off before jumping off the bed and going through his bag. When he came back he had a small bottle of lube and a condom. He fingered Jackson open for a few minutes, smirking when Jackson had to bit his lip to keep his moans in so they didn’t wake Danny and Ethan. “I want you to know that I like fucking rough,” Aiden said, pulling his fingers out and rolling on a condom.

 

“Good,” Jackson said. “That’s how I like being fucked.”

 

Aiden thrust inside of him, Jackson groaning and gripping the sheets. He didn’t waste much time letting Jackson adjusted before he was fucking hard, pounding into him and biting down on Jackson’s neck and shoulder, leaving marks that would quickly fade.

 

Jackson moaned, wrapping a hand around his cock and trying his best to keep quiet as Aiden fucked him. It was fast and rough, everything he imagined sex with Aiden would be. He reached back with his free hand and grabbed Aiden’s hip, claws accidentally coming out and digging into his skin. Aiden grunted in pain, but didn’t stop, fucking him harder.

 

After a few minutes, Aiden growled and pulled out, manhandling Jackson until he was on his hands and knees. He thrust back inside of him, gripping Jackson’s hips tightly and started to pound into him once more. The two of them moaning, Jackson’s claws tearing at the sheets as Aiden’s dug into his skin.

 

Aiden’s fangs were on his neck, grazing his skin just barely biting in. Jackson groaned and arched his back, feeling the material of Aiden’s shirt rubbing against his back. “Bite me,” Jackson growled. “Do it.”

 

And Aiden did, biting into him and Jackson nearly screamed as he came, his whole body shaking. They collapsed to the bed and Aiden continued to thrust into him until he came as well. They lay in silence for a few minutes, neither of them knowing what to say until Aiden pulled out of Jackson and rolled away from him. “Danny and Ethan can’t know.”

 

“Like I’d tell them.”

 

* * *

 

 

25.

 

**Warnings:** Spanking, Dub con

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Student/Teacher

 

Stiles squirmed on the seat, his embarrassment at being sent to the principal’s office at the age of seventeen making his cheeks flush bright red. Just because he’d been texting in class a few times. Or seven. And perhaps he shouldn’t have mocked Coach’s haircut, but _really_ , couldn’t he see he was balding? That man had no sense of humor.

 

The door creaked open ominously and Stiles swallowed and stood, feeling like he was seven again. He took heavy steps past the threshold and into the large, dark office, eyes trained on the floor. He plopped down in the chair before looking up to see the man seated across the desk from him, his jaw dropping in shock.

 

“Derek?” He leaned forward, hands braced on his legs, his mouth curving up into a huge smile until laughter bubbled up and out of him as he took in Derek’s blue silk tie and ridiculous tweed jacket.

 

Derek looked less than amused, fingers drumming along the big chair’s armrests. The whole ensemble made him look older and in charge, and Stiles was really digging it.

 

“What did you do this time, Stiles?” Derek asked in a no-nonsense way that made Stiles giggle.

 

“How are you the principal? What, are they just taking anyone who walks in off the street? I mean, I know it’s been a tough job to fill. But still... _you_?”

 

Derek gave a roguish smile that made Stiles’ skin tingle and had him squirming with a meek grin to mask his nervousness.

 

“That’s Mr. Hale, please. And believe it or not, I _am_ qualified to do this job. Now, I asked you before. _What did you do_?”

 

“Texting in Coach’s class,” Stiles finally blurted out, feeling embarrassment creep down his neck. Derek held out his hand and Stiles fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the phone and placing it in Derek’s palm. Derek took it and sat back in his chair, lining it up on the edge of the desk as he fixed Stiles with a pointed gaze.

 

“What do you think the proper punishment is for this, Stiles?”

 

Stiles’ palms were instantly sweaty, his shirt collar choking him. He tugged at it, unsure how to answer the question and knowing he’d _never_ felt like this in the principal’s office before. Mostly it had been death threats and the like.

 

When Stiles remained silent Derek raised his eyebrow, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Stand up and pull your pants down.”

 

“What? No way,” was Stiles’ immediate response, his dick chubbing up in his underwear. He crossed his legs quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment and his arousal at Derek’s stern demeanor and hot teacher look.

 

“Do it now or I’ll call your dad.”

 

And that had Stiles scrambling to stand, hand lowering to his zipper even though he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do. He pushed the pants down over his hips, feeling humiliated as his half-hard dick sprung free beneath Derek’s hot gaze.

 

Derek rounded the corner of the desk and slid up behind Stiles, pressing him forward at the shoulders and making him lean against the desk. The position pushed Stiles’ ass out and he felt his face flaming as Derek’s hands rubbed warmly against his naked skin and then forced the two cheeks apart.

 

The first slap of Derek’s palm made Stiles startle, like he’d been under the illusion that something else might be happening. Then there was a second and a third, the pain fanning out with a dull heat. Derek must have _experience_ at spanking because he waited just the right amount of time for Stiles to relax before he was at it again, drawing little yelps while Stiles hung his head and just took it.

 

“You’re not enjoying this, are you, Stiles?” Derek whispered as he reached around and grasped Stiles’ cock.

 

“N-no,” Stiles got out, his body jerking forward into the tight fist.

 

“Liar,” Derek whispered as he twisted his hand. Another swat made Stiles lift on his toes and suddenly his orgasm rushed over his skin, his come spurting out over Derek’s fingers and onto the stacks of paperwork on the desk.

 

Derek stepped back, smoothing down his jacket as Stiles panted, red-faced and bare-bottomed.

 

“Detention after school today, Mr. Stilinski. You have to clean up this mess, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

26.

**Warnings:** None

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Made Them Do It

 

Derek’s honest to god _nuzzling_ Stiles' neck, clawing at his shirt when they stagger into the loft.

 

Isaac's wearing a look of pure amusement. Scott jumps to his feet.

 

"Stiles," Derek moans. It sends an inappropriate jolt straight to Stiles' dick.

 

"Scott, help me get him—"

 

"No," Derek growls, eyes glowing electric blue like he's ingested too much Spice and Stiles is in some bizarre-ass were-version of Dune.

 

Scott stares, slack-jawed, forehead creased in confusion as Derek glares down his almost-alpha.

 

His hand slips up under Stiles' shirt, fingers stroking skin as his other arm wraps around Stiles protectively.

 

Derek hums something unintelligible into Stiles' shoulder, then drags his lips up Stiles' neck.

 

"What happened to him?" Scott asks.

 

"I don't know," Stiles says, trying to shrug out of Derek's grasp. "He was dick-slapped by a tantric tree elf!"

 

"You said you guys had it handled."

 

Stiles puts a hand on Derek's forehead, pushing him back to avoid the embarrassingly messy kiss Derek's angling for. "Yeah, clearly I was mistaken."

 

A peal of laughter rings out. All eyes snap to Isaac. "Deaton said—"

 

"Isaac!" Scott cuts him off. He looks back at Stiles, concerned.

 

"I know," Stiles says, because he _does_ know. Sex magic is _strange._

 

Derek moves behind him, one arm looping around Stiles' waist, mouthing the hair at the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles can feel Derek's hard dick pressed against his ass.

 

"Well, looks like you've got _this_ part covered," Isaac says, wrapping his asshole scarf around his asshole neck and making his way to the door.

 

Scott purses his lips as he takes in the spectacle.

 

Scott's aware of the arousal, both Derek's _and_ Stiles' own. Stiles is past the point of being embarrassed. That part isn't new.

 

Scott knows what'll happen as soon as he leaves, and Stiles isn't sure if Scott's more concerned about his best friend's safety, or his magic-drugged almost-beta's consent.

 

They leave when Derek starts peeling Stiles' clothes off, whimpers of pain escaping him like he's running out of time.

 

Stiles is afraid to move as Derek licks his way down, sucks a kiss into Stiles' hip. His fingers itch to rake through Derek's hair, but he isn't sure what's allowed.

 

Derek nuzzles into the crease of Stiles' thigh, scenting him.

 

"Uh...should we move to the—" Stiles half-gestures toward the couch.

 

"No time," Derek says, voice heavy with pain and apology.

 

Stiles' heart breaks.

 

He drops to Derek's level, kisses him as he undoes the button of his jeans and slides down the zipper.

 

Derek sucks Stiles' lip, desperate, needy, and Stiles aches with something he doesn't even want to consider right now.

 

He pushes Derek onto his back and pulls the rest of his clothes off, taking a second to admire the beautiful body he's fantasized about for so long.

 

"I don't really know what I'm doing."

 

"Don't _care_ , just _do_ it," Derek snaps. And honestly, he's every bit as sexy when he's desperate and dying.

 

"What, like...anything? Because you know I've never done this. I mean, I've done _stuff,_ and I've Googled—"

 

"Stiles!" Derek growls. "Don't make me kill you."

 

Threats are good. Derek's first language is promises of bodily harm, so at least his presence of mind isn't addled.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath and fits himself in the space between Derek's knees. "Really need to work on your pillow talk, buddy."

 

Derek groans as Stiles leans over him and wraps his lips around Derek's dick.

 

He makes a sound that's part relief and part euphoria. It sends another shock of arousal through Stiles.

 

He picks up his speed, fists a hand around the base of Derek's dick to cover what his mouth won't fit, and continues to suck him, sloppy with spit and no finesse, but, _god,_ it's good.

 

Derek presses fingertips to Stiles' shoulders, slides a hand up to his face and drags his thumb along Stiles' stretched bottom lip.

 

The touching is unexpectedly intimate, and Stiles shuts his eyes, forces thoughts of _more_ out of his mind and moans around the dick in his mouth.

 

*

 

He's not sure what time it is when the magic finally ebbs. The sun's rising, golden rays cutting through and striping the room in warmth.

 

"I'm sorry," Derek says, pressing his face in the crook of Stiles' neck. "I didn't want us to start that way."

 

"You...wanted us to...start?" Stiles tries and fails at keeping the hope from his tone.

 

Derek just nods, wraps his arms more tightly around Stiles.

 

* * *

 

 

27.

 

**Warning:** Underage (Derek is 16), dubcon

**Pairing:** Girl!Derek/Kate

**Chosen Trope:** Genderswap

 

Diana first notices the woman because of how she moves because she moves like a predator too, graceful and controlled, every step in the right place. But her gaze sticks because she's _beautiful_ , striking and perfect-looking in a way that Diana's never been able to figure out how to do with her own makeup, no matter how much she tries.

 

The woman notices her back.

 

Diana stumbles and nearly trips over her own feet when the woman waves, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. She closes her eyes briefly and wishes to the moon that she were cooler and smoother, more like Laura.

 

When she opens her eyes, the woman winks.

 

\-- Her name is Kate.

 

Her name is Kate and she is a _lesbian_ and she says it with an easy laugh and a tilt of her head, as if to say, _that's just how things are_ , with none of the cold fear that Diana feels in her chest when she thinks about her family finding out.

 

"I'm not in the closet," she says with a knowing look that makes Diana's heart skip a beat (excitement or fear, she can't tell), "but of course I understand why other people might be."

 

Her nails are the same bright red as her lips.

 

She offers to show Diana how to do her makeup, if she wants to come over some time. To her apartment, just her.

 

Diana can't say yes fast enough.

 

\--

 

Kate guides Diana through perfectly coating her lips with lipstick the same color as fresh blood, then leans in and presses their mouths together.

 

When she leans back and Diana opens her eyes, Kate's mouth is smeared messily with red. The curve of her smile holds their shared secret. She licks her lips. "Do you want to?"

 

Diana's heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, please."

 

Diana thinks she'll drown in the fragrant scent of Kate's shampoo and the more visceral, primal scent of _human_ and being so close to another person. Her entire body vibrates with excitement and eagerness as Kate cups her breasts through her shirt and kisses her again. No one has ever touched her like this before.

 

"Can -- Can I touch you?" she asks and Kate laughs throatily against her mouth.

 

"That's the idea, baby girl," she promises and brings Diana's hands to her breasts. "Have you ever done this before? What do you like?"

 

"Not with anyone else," Diana admits as she draws her hands wonderingly over Kate's body. "I don't know."

 

So Kate teaches her.

 

She takes Diana to bed and kisses her wetly, pressing her tongue into Diana's mouth. Everything Kate does feels electric, making Diana feel like her body's been turned into a live wire.

 

She gasps when Kate dips her hand down the front of her jeans and slips a finger between her lips.

 

Kate chuckles in her ear. "You're so wet for me, Diana," she says, then pushes that finger _inside_ her. She helps Diana struggle out of her pants then brings her hand between Diana's legs again, using skilled, purposeful strokes until her pleasure builds and spills over.

 

Kate waits for Diana to catch her breath, then does it again, over and over until Diana finally feels too wrung out to come again.

 

Diana laughs breathlessly. "You have to show me how to do that," she says.

 

"I will."

 

\--

 

Diana thinks she's in love.

 

That's when everything goes up in flames.

 

* * *

 

 

28.

 

**Warnings: semi-public sex**

**Pairing: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski**

**Chosen Trope: Accidentally married**

 

Clark Country Clerk's Office, Nevada.

 

They're going to let it expire. It was all just an accident, so instead of staying, they take the road through Albuquerque. They're on their way back to New York now, back to Derek's place, when they pull off on the side of the road. The A/C blows so sharp it hurts on their faces. The music is loud. Garage band music: distortion, lots of cymbals. Sounding the way the great plains look. Stiles' smile has slid down, off of his face, but his hand is still in the front of Scott's jeans. While Stiles sits frozen, Scott is scurrying to unbuckle his seatbelt and throw his seat back.

 

"I—" Stiles almost says before Scott kisses him, gripping him hard by the collar of his shirt, pulling him against his own still-buckled seatbelt. Stiles barely manages to free himself before choking, and as soon as he's untangled from the polyester web, he falls onto Scott, both of them lying back, trying to tuck under the wheel and escape the gearshift.

 

The kiss is dusty, earthen, tasting like tall grass. Like the dirt and fields must be slipping in through the cracks in the car. Getting into everything. Scott's hands are gritty where they ride up beneath Stiles' shirt, pushing it away. It scratches in a pleasant way, like all of Stiles' skin feels shrunken and itchy all of the sudden.

 

Stiles pushes his fingers into Scott's hair, and Scott forces his fingers below Stiles' waistband. They move together, never stopping, each going in his own direction. Scott almost has Stiles all the way on top of him when Stiles' knee catches between the gearshift and the center console. He barks out in pain.

 

"Stop," he says, until Scott grinds up against him, and then he says, "Oh, wait, don't."

 

Scott doesn't. He doesn't need to lead Stiles any further to get them touching, just needs to undo their jeans, and as soon as he does, he moans. The heat of Stiles under his boxers is incredible, feeling like all of the summer in the whole midwest is between Stiles' legs, between their bodies.

 

"Fuck, yeah, buddy," Stiles is mumbling, and Scott is rocking up against him, rhythmless, fighting Stiles' own movements in a struggle that for some reason is working for both of them. Stiles turns his head and catches Scott's lips in a kiss, their hands abandoning whatever balancing positions they'd been holding and hunting for purchase on each other's body.

 

Stiles says, "I'm close," long before he actually finishes, but Scott could believe him, watching him work through the pleasure with this expression of tantalized euphoria until he actually spills himself between their bellies. The slickness gives Scott enough freedom to rut until he finds his own completion, hugging Stiles close to him, even with the mess. After that, they just lay there for a moment. The stillness, silence of the outside is unusual; neither of them feel like they're actually on a roadside.

 

"Let's go back," Scott says quietly. He doesn't look at Stiles, but he looks like he knows that Stiles is looking at him. "Let's just turn around and do it. We've got the license."

 

Stiles lifts up a little, frowning down at Scott. "You serious?" He waits for a moment, but Scott doesn't say anything. "You want to get _married_?" Still nothing. "In _Las Vegas_?"

 

Finally, Scott levels him with one of those looks. "Yes."

 

Heaving out a long breath, Stiles sits the rest of the way up and runs his hand through his hair. Jittery all of the sudden. Possibly smiling, maybe, unless that's the sun in Scott's eyes. "Okay. Okay, yeah." He's grappling for the GPS and re-fastening his pants when he muses distractedly, "Someone should call Derek. Let him know we won't be home on Wednesday."

 

* * *

 

 

29.

 

**Warnings:** temporary female Stiles

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

**Chosen Trope:** genderswap

 

"I want you to fuck me."

 

Confused, Derek stares at him...her...Shit.

 

"What?"

 

Stiles rolls his eyes--doesn't matter that he's temporarily stuck in a girl's body, he's calling himself he--and strips his top over his head.

 

There's a bra, purple and lacy and with wires that are digging into his boobs, because Lydia dragged him to the mall for clothes and he can never say no to her.

 

"You fucked me two nights ago, you can fuck me now."

 

"Um..."

 

Reaching behind himself, Stiles fiddles with the hooks, twisting the fabric back and forth and turning red in the face. "Jesus, come get me out of this thing. I think the hooks are magically locked or something."

 

"Stiles," Derek begins with a sigh, then stares at the floor. "I can understand you wanting to explore your new body, but..." His face softens a bit, a tiny hint of sadness in his eyes as he lifts them for a moment, "I want the real you."

 

Deflating, Stiles stops tugging on the bra, and kneels on the couch next to his boyfriend. "I'm here, Derek, the real me."

 

Derek flushes and tries to look away, but Stiles catches his chin in small, slender fingers that have purple nails to match the underwear. "I don't...I'm not sure I can," he finally admits.

 

"Can I kiss you?" Suddenly, Stiles gets it. Derek's track record with women is horrible and after Kate...

 

His answer is a shrug of broad shoulders and Stiles sighs, but understands. "Okay. How about this, would you mind if I explored a bit myself?"

 

One of the things Derek loves the most about their sex life is watching Stiles jerk off, and Stiles does know his boyfriend. He's not surprised when interest pops into his hazel eyes and he nods.

 

Smiling, Stiles turns slightly. "I still can't get this damn thing off." Derek laughs, and nimble fingers unhook the bra, leaving shivers on his skin. When he turns back, Derek's relaxing into the corner of the couch, eyes hooded slightly and one hand splayed across his lower stomach. Stiles grins mischievously. "Feel free to give yourself a hand, so to speak."

 

Derek rolls his eyes, but the bulge in his jeans grows just a bit as Stiles flings the bra onto the floor, then reclines back in the other corner of the couch and tugs up his skirt to reveal matching purple panties.

 

Really tiny purple panties.

 

One hand cupping a breast, the thumb rubbing his nipple, he uses the other to wriggle the panties down to his knees and spreads his legs as wide was he can.

 

The bulge in Derek's jeans grows.

 

Stiles licks his lips, then his finger, and experimentally places it at the top of his cleft. It's moist, warm, soft, and when he presses down, a tingle of pleasure goes through him. He's watched a lot of porn but he's never touched a girl outside of kissing and a bit of groping through clothes.

 

This is really different.

 

Eyes fixed on Derek's face, he slides his finger down and back up, again and again, swirling the tip around what has to be his clit because it's swelling and feels so good. He's getting wetter, his nipples hardening as he plays with them. Finally, he moves two fingers down to where the wetness is coming from and awkwardly pushes in.

 

It's tight and hot.

 

"Do you like it?" Derek asks, voice husky, eyes dark, and his cock is fully erect and trapped.

 

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, "But, I want to see you, too. Take it out, fuck your hand." His voice rises to a squeal as his fingers touch some spot inside himself that has him jerking and shoving in a third as his thumb presses hard to his clit. "Oh, shit, shit, shit!"

 

As he babbles, he watches Derek pull out his hard cock, watches him strip it fast, pre-cum dripping over his fingers. Stiles' hips bounce a bit. He abandons his tits and shoves a fourth finger into his cunt, fucking himself on them as his free fingers pinch his clit.

 

He comes, a huge shudder of pleasure and heat and wetness. Muscles he didn't know girls had clench around his fingers and he gasps and pants for air, sweat rolling down between and beneath his breasts.

 

Wow.

 

As Stiles collapses, Derek comes hard into his hand, and murmurs, "Do it again."

 

Stiles' fingers thrust...

 

* * *

 

 

30.

 

**Warnings:** None

**Pairing:** Alan Deaton/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Time Travel

 

Stiles is standing in an ‘x’ made of runes, the glow fading rapidly, and he doesn’t recognize this particular patch of earth at all.

 

_Of-fucking-course_.

 

+

 

He’s gone thirteen years in the wrong direction according to the hunting signs posted all around him. Brilliant. There’s a hole in his shoe near the heel because he hadn’t expected to be hoofing it through a goddamn forest when he’d woken up that morning.

 

He finds a road, sticks out a thumb. There’s a rock in his other shoe and he’s sweating like he’s got a glandular issue by the time a pick-up pulls over. A dark-skinned guy with incredibly white teeth leans across the console, asks, “Where you going?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “In the direction of red meat, which I figure I can get no matter which compass point you’re chasing.”

 

The guy squints, shrugs back, opens the door for him.

 

They stop at the third burger joint they pass. Stiles doesn’t have his wallet on him—of course—and the guy—the ‘A.J. works’ guy—sticks a fry in his face and declares, “I don’t think I’m going to like you.”

 

Which Stiles decides is mostly fair. He’s already—accidentally, it should be noted—scammed him out of gas and seven bucks worth of burger and fries. Still, he feels compelled to say, “You should definitely wait to get to know me to dislike me, fair shake and all.”

 

A.J. grins, leg bent at the knee and up on the booth next to him. He kind of _sprawls_. The way he tends to sit with his legs open makes Stiles think about his dick.

 

A lot.

 

He thinks it’s malicious because the guy _has_ to know it.

 

+

 

They stop at a motel when the sun starts to set. A.J. says that since he’s ‘paying for this shit’ he’s not springing for an extra room or two twins.

 

Stiles shrugs, doesn’t ask questions even though he wants to. He knows why _he’s_ nomadic. His home doesn’t even _exist_ yet, but A.J. is more of an enigma.

 

A.J. takes the shower, walks back out wet – his slight fro with water droplets clinging to it, and Stiles catches a glimpse of his back. Black ink covers it, runes that Stiles recognizes, that he knows are real are etched into his dark skin. It’s fucking hot and Stiles should be booking it as fast as he can in the other direction, instead he licks his lower lip and isn’t subtle about spreading his legs.

 

A.J. notices, likes it if the look in his eyes is any indication, and drops the towel. Stiles wants to drop right with it because that is a dick that deserves to be _sucked_.

 

Instead he shifts his hips up off the dresser, asks with a smirk, “Disliking me doesn’t stop you wanting to get a hand down my pants?”

 

A.J. taps his temple. “My mind has standards. My dick, however.” He trails off with a white grin in his dark face and he’s as hard as Stiles is.

 

+

 

He smokes something after. Heroin maybe. Doesn’t offer Stiles any and Stiles stretches out on the bed, muscles rippling, sore in all the right places. He’s traveling with a guy who’s clearly bent on self-destruction, nothing more than a bomb waiting to explode.

 

Stiles decides to enjoy it for as long as he can.

 

+

 

They order the greasiest looking pizza in the book and A.J.’s shaving in the bathroom when it arrives, hollers for Stiles to get money out of his wallet. Stiles does, catches sight of the driver’s license and falls back a step, the twenty dropping to the floor. The delivery guy shoves the pizza at him, snatches up the bill with some angry muttering. Stiles lets out a disbelieving little laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

A.J. walks out, smoothing a hand over his chin, wraps the other around Stiles’ waist. “Problem?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, puts the wallet down, closes the flap over the name:

 

_Alan Jay Deaton_.

 

A.J.— _Deaton_ —fucks him again after the pizza’s gone, mouth greasy and eyes eager.

 

+

 

Stiles wakes up on Deaton’s exam table. Deaton’s there, staring down at a clipboard and he pretends not to care when he notices Stiles is awake.

 

Stiles feels groggy and his voice sticks. “A.J.?” he says, wanting or accusing or— _something_.

 

Deaton’s mouth curves into a familiar smirk. “Stiles,” he answers.

 

Stiles returns it. “You’re a damn, dirty liar. You liked me just fine.”

 

Deaton laughs.

 

* * *

 

31.

 

**Warnings:** dubcon

**Pairing:** Danny/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** aliens made them do it

 

“What on Earth?”

 

Stiles was awoken by a bright white light shining into the window, bright enough it cast his room into shades of blue. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn’t in the bestiary or obviously a hunter.

 

There was a faint mechanical whirring sound, like a faraway motor, and a thickly layered smell of ozone, and all Stiles could do was think, ‘Am I getting enough air?’ before he found himself being lifted up by some sort of tractor beam and dragged away into the light.

 

#

 

Stiles abruptly jerked into consciousness. He was on a cot, with a tiny pillow and a thin sheet, in a brightly lit white-gray box of a small, square room. For the first time in his life, he was absolutely at a loss what to think or do. What was supposed to be happening here? He had no frame of reference, and he was _freezing_.

 

A section of wall slid away and, surprise of surprises, Danny was tossed in with him. Stiles was so astonished at this, he didn’t even try to escape, just gaped at him. Danny laboriously got to his feet and loomed over the still speechless Stiles.

 

“I think the aliens took us because we’re not werewolves.”

 

“Wha- How do you know about werewolves?”

 

“Stiles. You and Scott are not quiet in class; you talk about it all the time. The shit you get into isn’t exactly stealthy,” Danny exasperatedly replied. “And scoot over, bed hog.”

 

Stiles managed to move over and let Danny sit beside him.

 

“So . . . aliens then?” Stiles cracked up, “Are they big eyed and into anal probes?”

 

His laughter trailed off at Danny’s flinch.

 

“Fuck.”

 

#

 

At an indeterminate time later, they’re taken to a large circular room that reminded Stiles uncomfortably of an operating theatre.

 

The metal table they’re deposited on was heated and gave off a slight tingly feeling. Danny closed his eyes and just laid there. Stiles was taking the opportunity to look around, acting freaked out, trying to scope out the room.

 

He couldn’t really see over the glare of the lights, but he could tell there were lots of aliens filling up the observation booths. He couldn’t tell what they aliens actually looked like, the ones in the room with them only looked like the stories because of some sort of hazmat suit.

 

The tingle was becoming stronger and Stiles breathed through the panic at his heart rate involuntarily increasing. Sure enough, he was growing hard. The smell in the air changed and Stiles started to ache. He could hear Danny panting, trying to hold off for as long as he could and that helped him stay focused a little.

 

The tingle was so strong now he was starting to go numb a bit. He could hear movement from the room behind him and knew that they would have to put their plan into motion soon if they didn’t want to be ‘encouraged.’

 

Danny whispered, “Now, Stiles,” and turned his body to face Stiles. Stiles checked Danny’s face for any sign that the plan had changed, and when Danny nodded, leaned in, closed his eyes and kissed him.

 

Stiles kept his eyes shut the entire time Danny fucked him. Even with the electro-shock table, he didn’t think he could perform if he had to see the theatre as well as hear it.

 

#

 

“Well, they didn’t expect that,” Danny finally said, after a long moment passed with them alone in the cell.

 

“Hm, really?” Stiles asked. His eyes were still shut.

 

“Yeah, they act like we’re ants, not autonomous in our own right. Clearly, they’ve never put anyone together friendly enough to plot to have sex before they made them.”

 

“Did you get the device?”

 

“Yeah, I did. Stiles . . . are you going to be okay?”

 

Stiles opened his eyes at that, “Yeah, just, I’m trying to tamp down the trauma long enough to be useful. I can panic when we escape, you know?”

 

Danny clasped his shoulder in commiseration, “Come on, escape and therapy awaits.”

 

Stiles snorted and got up as Danny got the door open.

 

“Lead on, fearless leader.”

 

* * *

 

32.

 

**Warnings:** dubcon related to power imbalance, exhibitionism

**Pairing:** Erica/Lydia

**Chosen Trope:** college au: sorority au

 

Erica shivered as the giant doors opened and the president of ABO strode in. Lydia Martin- part brilliance, part cunning, and all presence. Erica was convinced she was the only person who could just stride into a sorority house, cute romper and matching strap-on, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it was- so far rush hadn't really discouraged that notion.

 

Lydia climbed the stairs her stilettos clicking, taking in all the new pledges in their matching white undergarments. Tradition was important after all, and she wasn't about to let initiation change- not when it promised her first pick among the pledges. Cora, her VP, was finishing up the speech. Usually Lydia would give it, but Cora was taking over next semester, and she was happy to push off all the boring parts of her position.

 

She knew whom she'd be taking in front of everyone, and Erica knew it too. That didn't mean she wasn't going to mess with the other pledges' heads though. She paused behind Allison, and shooting her treasurer Kira a smirk, she said, "Take off your bra pledge."

 

Allison did, and Lydia thumbed her nipples before moving on to slap another pledge's ass. It was a heady feeling, knowing she could take anyone here and they wouldn't protest. She could have them run around the house naked, or film themselves or-

 

Lydia found herself behind Erica suddenly, and she wasn't surprised her feet had brought her here. She found herself extra pleased with her heels- at five inches and with Erica slightly bent, for once she was a bit taller.

 

"Ready for me Reyes?" she asked, not bothering with the official phrasing.

 

Erica's back arched delightfully, and she didn't hold back a smirk as all the other people watched her, "I am."

 

Lydia pushed the white cotton panties down to her knees, and let her bra tangle between her wrists. They weren't actual restraints of course, but she liked the image. The reminder that later tonight Erica would probably be tied down to her bed and covered with whipped cream and strawberries.

 

Her right hand slipped between Erica's pale thighs, stroking up against her lips, "Already wet for me? What a good little strumpet."

 

Erica pushed her hips back, and Lydia's free hand tweaked her nipples, "I knew you'd be perfect for this Reyes. Such a little show-off, just begging to get bent over the nearest surface."

 

The blonde moaned at her words, and she strongly remembered they weren't alone as the pledge to her right- Braeden- put her hand on top of hers on the banister. Erica gave her a thankful smile that turned into a high-pitched moan when Lydia slammed her dildo into her abruptly. On her left side Malia covered her other hand, and she absently thought she'd have to buy them ice cream or something, because she couldn't imagine keeping her hands on the banister without them. Her fingers itched to pull Lydia's hips closer, to weave into her red curls, to drag her face in for a filthy kiss.

 

Lydia's grip loosened on Erica's hip as her hand moved in to flick at her clit, and she teased, "Louder Reyes, I don't think the frat across the way can hear you."

 

Erica flushed as she obeyed, wondering if people out on the quad could hear her. She stopped wondering when Lydia's finger dragged around the base of the dildo, her fingertip brushing against her labia.

 

"So wet and hungry for it Reyes... I bet you could take my fingers too, couldn't you?" she asked with her thumb pressing in beside the dildo before Erica could reply.

 

A strangled moan broke past Erica's lips, and she bent over sharply, her breasts getting pushed into the banister. She didn't care though, this angle was perfection and the extra finger didn't seem like too much anymore. So of course Lydia, all-knowing Lydia, decided to push in another finger. She isn't thrusting the dildo much any more, she's just gently rocking it in and out with her fingers, and Erica looses count of how many fingers are in her. All she knows is that she's so gloriously full.

 

Lydia's other hand comes down to play with her clit, a sudden shocking pleasure and Erica comes with a scream. When she comes back down it's slowly, and she can hear her new sisters and the pledges whispering. She basks in the attention and sits in Lydia's lap while Cora goes next.

 

* * *

 

33.

 

**Warnings:** Allusion to off-screen character death (Kate)

**Pairing:** Chris/Derek

**Chosen Trope:** In Vino Veritas, Pining

 

Bourbon splashes on Derek's fingers when the tumbler begins to slip from Chris' hand.

 

He's come to love the smoky, bitter scent of Chris' favorite drink. It's familiar, a balm to soothe old wounds that may never fully heal.

 

Derek takes a sip. The burn of alcohol fades until only earthy sweetness remains, soft and thick like liquid velvet on Derek's tongue.

 

"I think it's time for me to go."

 

"Not yet." Chris reaches for him. "Stay."

 

He lets himself be caught by Chris' clumsy attempt to grab his wrist.

 

The truth is, Derek doesn't want to leave. He'd rather soak up the warmth and affection that radiate from Chris after a few drinks.

 

They've been dancing around each other for months, ever since Chris chose Derek's life over his own sister's.

 

Derek aches to lean in and see if bourbon tastes just as smooth on Chris' tongue.

 

But a Hale and an Argent?

 

It's a fool's dream.

 

No amount of time spent together in the quiet comfort of Chris' living room will ever change that.

 

Derek squeezes Chris' hand and gets up to leave.

 

When Chris falls back against the pillows, Derek lifts his feet up onto the couch and covers him with a throw. Chris' breathing evens out and Derek can't resist rubbing a thumb across his temple in a gentle caress.

 

"Goodnight, Chris."

 

"'Night. Love you," Chris murmurs in response.

 

Derek freezes.

 

When Chris meets Derek's gaze, he looks startled by his own admission, but his eyes are clear and fever-bright in the waning firelight.

 

"I—" Chris clears his throat and pushes himself upright. "I didn't mean it to come out that way."

 

Derek's shoulders sag and he turns to leave.

 

Hearing what he already knows to be true doesn't lessen the blow.

 

"Wait," Chris says. He approaches Derek with careful hesitance, like the hunter he was raised to be.

 

Derek doesn't move an inch.

 

Chris' heart beats steady and true when he slides a hand around Derek's neck. The first press of their lips is gentle, searching. For once, Derek wonders if Chris has been holding back for _his_ sake.

 

Derek is tired of the uncertainty.

 

An out is the last thing he wants.

 

He pushes his tongue inside Chris' mouth, moaning when Chris grabs the back of his head and angles for control. Rough fingertips slide under Derek's shirt, leaving trails of fire where they drag against his skin.

 

They tear at each other's clothing, then stumble naked toward the couch. Chris settles between Derek's legs and his eyes roam over Derek's body while he strokes his own dick.

 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Derek reaches for Chris. He needs Chris' hands, mouth, _anything_ on him.

 

"I didn't want to fuck this up." Chris spits into his palm and takes their cocks in his fist.

 

Derek gasps at the too-dry, perfect friction of skin on skin. "And now?"

 

"Now that I know I can have you—" Chris leans forward and kisses him, all wet heat and bourbon-sweet tongue. "I want to take my time."

 

A rush of warmth floods Derek's body.

 

"Want to take you to bed, put my mouth on you," he whispers against Derek's lips.

 

Their bodies are so close, the wet tip of Derek's dick bumps against Chris' stomach when his hips jerk.

 

"I'll spread you open, get you so wet." Chris teases the head of Derek's dick with his calloused thumb. "Put my fingers in you."

 

Derek _wants_. Wants Chris to lick him open until he's stretched and dripping wet, to hear Chris' gravelly voice in his ear, teeth at Derek's throat, while Derek rides his fingers.

 

"Fuck," he whispers. Derek never thought they could have this; he's shaking with how badly he needs it.

 

"Mhmm," Chris hums, hand moving faster. "It's been a long time since I fucked a man."

 

Derek groans, deep and needy.

 

"I can't wait to get inside of you."

 

One more twist of Chris' wrist and Derek is gone. He shudders through it, ass clenching around nothing, imagining Chris pushing into him. Chris slides his dick through the mess on Derek's stomach, finding his own release soon after.

 

Derek rubs their come into his skin as they catch their breath, then pulls the blanket over them. They kiss until the fire is down to embers, cocooned in darkness.

 

"I meant it." Chris nuzzles his stubbled cheek against Derek's. "All of it."

 

Derek shivers but he's anything but cold.

 

"I know," he answers. "Me too."

 

* * *

 

34.

 

**Warnings:** None

**Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Huddle for warmth

 

The storm rages on outside and even if Scott hadn’t seen the warlock in the midst of the spell, he’d know it was unnatural from its sheer ferocity. Snow is battering against the window, blocking out most of the light. They’ve rolled up he cabin’s rug to seal up the gap under the door, taken the sheets off the twin bed and ripped them into strips to seal around window panes. But the cold seeps in anyway, even if snowflakes don’t. There’s no firewood. Not enough blankets.

 

Stiles looks so pale his skin could be crystal, lips thinned out and off-white instead of their usual startling pink. His teeth make a persistent chatter as he paces around the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets and legs bouncing listlessly with every step. Scott tried to get him to stop and smother himself in the blankets, but Stiles refused. If Scott was up researching a solution, he was up debating that solution. Scott doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he lost cellphone signal forty-five minutes ago.

 

“I can’t anymore,” is all he says, collapsing onto the bed. “You shouldn’t either. C’mere. It’ll be like old times. Remember the Millennium Falcon you insisted on making? How we had to squish together? How mom only just stopped herself from screaming when she saw we’d used every sheet and blanket in the house?”

 

Scott remembers it vividly. It’d only been three years ago. His mom had ranted at him for weeks about him being too old for it, too old for Stiles, until he appeased her by saying he’d get a job in the summer to pay for two blue sheets they destroyed. Mom has never once questioned his friendship with Stiles since. Actually, she held him tight and said she loved him last month. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.

 

“We don’t have enough material to work with,” Stiles says, tossing a hand out, voice jagged and hoarse.

 

“Squish with me anyway,” Scott cajoles, wiggling around in what he hopes is an enticing manner.

 

It must be, because Stiles rolls his eyes and settles by his side anyway. The bed’s not big enough. They need to tangle themselves up. Scott brings one of his legs up so Stiles is nestled in the vee, curls his hands over his waist and drags him tight. He helps Stiles adjust the blankets so they’re tucked tightly around them. Stiles’ back is strong and solid against his chest, his neck is right there, and Scott can’t stop himself from kissing the smooth, cold skin.

 

“What’s that for?”

 

Scott could say so many things; _for staying with me every step of the way, for caring about me when so few cared, for being my always, being my everything._

 

But he shrugs, hooks his head over Stiles’ shoulder. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s starting to get warmer.

 

“You think we’re gonna die this time?” Stiles asks, the words stark in air.

 

“No,” Scott replies. It’s better than ‘I don’t know’.

 

“If we don’t, I’d like you to pretend the following conversation never happens,” Stiles says, tilting his head so his cheek glances against Scott’s lips.

 

“I can do that.”

 

“I think about us doing the do, constantly,” Stiles says, hushed voice at complete odds with his words. “I think about swerving on that, frick fracking, engaging in hanky panky--”

 

“I get the picture,” Scott says on a laugh.

 

“You’re not freaking out?”

 

“Why should I? What, you thought I’d be like, ‘You think about us doing something that’d give us both joy and satisfaction? You’re revolting, I want nothing to do with you’?”

 

“But that’s not how friendship works. And you don’t feel the same. And I’m talking constant, Scott, like right now.”

 

Scott grins and presses another kiss to Stiles’ skin, this time at the edge of his jaw. “Why can’t friendship work that way? And who said I don’t feel the same? And really, you wanna? Might be a good method for warming up.”

 

Stiles shudders and for a second Scott worries, before Stiles is grinding back into him and moving his hand to press it under his shirt. Scott traces his happy trail, imagines licking down it and nuzzling into the base of Stiles’ cock. He explores with the pads of his fingers instead, touching Stiles like he’s never gotten to before.

 

The storm rages on outside and Scott ignores it, concentrating on the storm raging in his heart.

 

* * *

 

35.

 

**Warnings:** None

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Royalty AU

 

“This one,” the voice said, and Stiles had to avoid flinching at the softness of the single finger covered in lambskin that slid down his cheek. “I’ll take this one.”

 

It was hard, keeping his head down to avoid the gaze of his new owner, and he had nearly succeeded until another voice cut in through the heavy air.

 

“Not him, Uncle.”

 

At the familiar voice, Stiles’ head snapped up before he could help himself, and the steely green-grey gaze of the kingdom’s new ruler sent shivers down his spine.

 

His eyes unmoving from Stiles’ face, Derek Hale lifted a single eyebrow at the first muttered word of protest from Peter. “Are you questioning my decision, Uncle?”

 

“No, Your Majesty,” Peter said bitterly, after a long pause. “I shall return soon to pick out another lackey, then,” he nodded towards the slave master, who then tipped his head in acquiescence before he bowed to Derek and left the building.

 

“Will you be taking this one then, Sire?”

 

Derek blatantly dragged his eyes down Stiles’ body and back up, uncaring of the rising blush in Stiles’ cheeks, and nodded once.

 

“Have him sent to my castle. Immediately,” he ordered, before walking away without a single backwards glance.

 

+++

 

“What _happened_ to you?” Derek asked quietly, his mouth wet and open against the skin of Stiles’ neck, warm in the safety of his bedchambers. “Who did it? Are you hurt?”

 

“I’m okay, I swear on my father’s life,” Stiles’ hands couldn’t seem to stop running from the thick muscle of Derek’s bare shoulders to his broad back, where the dark ink of his tattoo had been marred with scars. “If anything, I should be asking _you_ these things.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Derek pulled away so he could look into Stiles’ eyes. “How’s your father? I could have him transferred to the castle, make sure he’s safe too.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “You would do that for me?”

 

“Of course I would, silly,” Derek ducked in to nip Stiles’ bottom lip gently, enjoying the way the smaller boy’s hips stuttered up into his. “You are the most important thing in my life, and by extension, so is your father and his comfort. I can set up a small cottage and a garden, so he can continue caring for his herbs and his spices.”

 

“Thank you,” Stiles said earnestly, his eyes abruptly filling with tears. “I… We would be dead, or worse, without you, and I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

“I was happy to do it,” Derek said simply, running a hand through Stiles’ hair tenderly and pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s been too long since we had this.”

 

“I have missed you,” Stiles replied, his eyes shining ardently as he shifted so he was straddling Derek’s lap. “There would be nights where I didn’t know if you were coming back for me.”

 

Derek caught Stiles’ mouth in a sharp, bruising kiss, relishing in the gasp Stiles’ let out, his fingers twisting in the thick strands of Derek’s hair. “I will always come for you,” he told him fiercely. “Always.”

 

“Yeah?” the corners of Stiles’ mouth turned up into a wicked smirk, and Derek felt a rush of fondness for his consort. “Prove it.”

 

* * *

 

36.

 

**Warnings:** none

**Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

**Chosen Trope:** College/Frat boys AU

 

"You called me down for a pissing contest?" Derek scowls at everyone. "I have an exam tomorrow."

 

Boyd, giving no shits, shrugs. "The pot's $475."

 

"Ew!" Scott scrunches his nose. "There's no _pissing_."

 

"The rules," Danny says, waving his tape measure. "First years -- Scott, Stiles, Jackson -- vs upper years -- Isaac, Boyd, you. Cumulative length."

 

Eyeing the living room full of idiots, Derek sighs. Boyd's going to owe him for this. "Hard?"

 

"Hard as you can make it, big boy," Stiles says, then he fucking winks. "Or I guess we'll see about the big boy part." Not for the first time, Derek regrets ever letting him pledge for their fraternity.

 

"Jesus," Derek hisses, tossing a glare at Boyd.

 

"I need the money, man." Boyd's face holds no guilt.

 

Derek shakes his head, cursing ever going to college. "Fine, I'm in."

 

Stiles is grinning at him. It takes up half his face and is mildly unsettling. This is such a bad idea.

 

Danny lines them up facing each other in pairs, saying it's easier for measuring but there's a mischievous gleam in his eye. Derek understands when he sees who he's paired with; Stiles' jaw is blotchy pink as he steps up.

 

"Pants around your ankles, boxers on 'till you call measure," Jackson says. "No homo."

 

Stiles whispers, " _So much_ homo." Derek's stomach clenches.

 

He slips a hand into his boxerbriefs. There's trash talking going on to his left between Jackson and Boyd, fuck-me-eyes to his right between Isaac and Scott.

 

"Blow your load before you get measured and you forfeit," Jackson reminds Isaac, who's panting something fierce already.

 

"Measure!" Isaac squeaks, and Danny hustles over. Scott calls it right after.

 

"Firsties in the lead by a quarter inch."

 

"Not for long," Boyd says. "Measure me."

 

Danny whistles, Jackson curses and Derek grins. No surprise there; he's shared a dorm with Boyd for years.

 

"Upper years in the lead," Danny announces..

 

Derek smirks at Stiles. "You'd better hope Jackson's wallet's deeper than his dick's long."

 

"Feeling _cocky_ , Hale?" Stiles' eyes trail downwards, mouth parting as he watches Derek's hand work.

 

"You can back out now, Stilinski," Derek says as Stiles' cheeks get a little ruddier. "Save face."

 

"What, you planning to aim at my face?" Stiles is gnawing his lip like he's thinking about it. When they head to Jungle, Stiles is like this, drunk enough to flirt shamelessly with Derek. Derek never lets himself be drunk enough to flirt back.

 

He feels drunk now. He struggles to focus as Stiles just keeps staring, like he's mesmerized. It's a fight to remember where they are.

 

"You can keep looking, but it's not getting any smaller," Derek says to break the tension. But it comes out too breathy.

 

"I'm waiting for it to get bigger. That's hardly a mouthful." Stiles grins. "I have big mouth."

 

Does he ever. Derek needs to stop staring at it. Looking lower isn't any better. Derek can see the the outline of the thick shaft as Stiles rubs himself through the cotton of his Batman boxers. The tent he's got going looks like it wants to send the batsignal into orbit.

 

"Son of a bitch." Derek's pretty sure the firsties knew they had a fucking ringer on their team.

 

"Jesus, Stiles," Isaac shouts, "you got a flagpole in there?"

 

"Is 475 divisible by 3?" Scott asks.

 

When Stiles adjusts himself, the full crown of his dick pokes out from his waistband. Derek may have pictured a time or twenty how he'd like Stiles' perfect snarky mouth stuffed full of his dick, but instantly his fantasy's reversed.

 

If either of them call measure now, he's lost. There's only one way to win this.

 

Derek strips off his shirt. "Hot in here." Boyd snickers from somewhere behind him.

 

Stiles goes pinker. "Asshole." He eyes Derek's chest, like he always does, hungry -- so much hungrier now that he knows the show's for him. Derek wishes they were alone.

 

But Boyd really does need the money. So Derek steps forward, hand slipping around Stiles' neck. Brushing Stiles' ear with his lips, he whispers, "Bet you'd choke me with that beast."

 

"Shit." Stiles gasps. "Measu--"

 

But it's too late. Derek feels Stiles' jizz shoot up his abs, a hot splash hitting his cheek.

 

Stiles grins, embarrassed and adorable. "Don't think your stupid face has looked any better."

 

Ignoring the exchange of money in the background, Derek pulls Stiles into a kiss. Boyd's welcome to Derek's share anyway.

 

* * *

 

37.

 

**Warnings:** underage

**Pairing:** Isaac/Scott/Derek

**Chosen Trope:** Sex pollen.

 

It started with Pandora's Box, or so they'd say afterwards: an old wooden box with elegant engravings.

 

Despite Derek's warning, Isaac couldn't help but crack the lid open. A smell like something wild and untamed tickled his nose and he sneezed hard enough to drop the container. As it landed on the floor, a fine, silvery powder rose up into the air, dancing in the faint moonlight.

 

“Isaac!”

 

“Oops.”

 

~~~

 

“Dude. Are you scenting me?”

 

Blushing hard, Isaac shook his head. “Don't be stupid.”

 

~~~

 

“What's wrong with you?” Derek growled when Scott bumped into him for the third time.

 

“I'm . . . dizzy.”

 

“Me too,” Isaac agreed.

 

“Told you not to open that box,” Derek sighed. “Or sniff that dust.”

 

“But it smelled so nice.”

 

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

 

“Or the werewolf,” Isaac snickered. Slumping against Scott's side pushed him against Derek's chest and trapped the Alpha between his Betas. “You smell nice, too. Both of you.”

 

“Don't dare scent me,” Derek growled. “I'm serious.”

 

Isaac nosed Scott's hair instead.

 

~~~

 

“What do you mean, 'strong stimulant?'”

 

“Do you really need me to elaborate?” Deaton raised his eyebrows, nodding infinitesimally towards Scott and Isaac, who were trying to perfect the art of dry humping in public.

 

“They'll be the death of me one day,” Derek scowled.

 

“Maybe they shouldn't be left alone in case they're incapable of suppressing their urges.”

 

“I'll see to it."

 

“You weren't exposed?”

 

He gave a noncommittal answer and his eyes flashed blue.

 

~~~

 

Derek kept trying to separate them, but when they trapped him, grinding their erections into him, he snapped.

 

~~~

 

Isaac drowned in the thrill of a cock in his mouth and two fingers working his ass open. A desire stronger and purer than anything he thought was humanly possible vibrated through him, and it had him flying high like a kite.

 

Or maybe he lost his mind because of the jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine with every brush over his prostate.

 

Moaning around Derek's cock triggered a chain reaction of involuntary jerks, resulting in a deeper penetration on both ends. Too soon, cum hit the back of Isaac's throat. He swallowed on reflex, the intensity of taste and smell and touch enough to drive him over the edge, too.

 

~~~

 

Scott fucked him nice and slow, with smooth thrusts, almost as if he was afraid Isaac might break. It was sweet, the best first time Isaac could have wished for, and it left him blissful.

 

Derek fucked him hard, slammed into him until Isaac was on the verge of wolf, and when his cum mixed with Scott's, Isaac couldn't hold back a howl. It left him with a carpet burn and a fierce ache for more.

 

~~~

 

The shower was a tight fit, but they found ways to save space, none of which necessarily furthered cleaning up.

 

~~~

 

Isaac hadn't known true lust until Derek's tongue did unspeakable things to him; Scott watched from the couch, bottom lip sucked in, hands busy in his lap.

 

Too many orgasms into the night, Isaac consisted only of broken whimpers and uncontrolled shivers, but it wasn't enough, not even remotely.

 

“Scott . . . need you.”

 

Scott shook his head. “Not quite ready for you yet,” he said with a lascivious grin. He spread his legs further and canted his hips, granting Isaac a good view of his own fingers sliding in and out of his ass.

 

“Oh God, please!”

 

~~~

 

Scott was hot and tight and too fucking amazing to last. Isaac tried, he really did, but the obscenities Derek nipped into his skin weren't actually helpful.

 

~~~

 

Despite his previous resistance, Derek was surprisingly receptive to the boys’ combined persuasion. They opened him up together, fingers dancing inside him, tongues and lips fighting over who was to suck him in deep. Isaac won that battle; claiming was an Alpha's right, anyway.

 

~~~

 

“Well-fucked” didn't begin to describe their condition. The sun stood high, but no one bothered to close the curtains; cuddled up, they drifted to sleep, the tang of ecstasy still heavy in the air.

 

* * *

 

38.

 

**Warnings:** Underage; brief allusions to past abuse

**Pairing:** Isaac Lahey/Jackson Whittemore

**Chosen Trope:** Snowed in, Strip Poker, Truth or Dare

 

Isaac sticks around long enough for Allison’s funeral, then says good-bye to the McCalls before asking Chris to take him to London. He can’t stay in Beacon Hills anymore.

 

~*~

 

London’s a big city with lots of people. It should mean there are several packs for Isaac to choose from. Which, naturally, is how he ends up in Jackson Whittemore’s pack.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lahey?” is the first thing Jackson says, when he sees Isaac for the first time.

 

“Fuck you,” Isaac replies.

 

His new alpha smirks, and Isaac thinks he might just like it here after all.

 

~*~

 

They aren’t friends. At all. But...at first, Jackson’s the only one Isaac knows. His scent’s familiar and strangely calming. So he sticks close, and Jackson lets him.

 

Then one day two newly-turned betas decide it’d be fun to lock Isaac in a closet, after they get wind of his past. He’s in the midst of a full blown panic attack when Jackson steps in, beats the shit out of them both, and promises they won’t be breathing next time, if they ever try that again.

 

Neither acknowledge what happened, but from that point on, things are different between them.

 

~*~

 

London’s hit with an unexpected blizzard mid-February, leaving Isaac stranded at Jackson’s with no power.

 

“We’ve got a deck of cards. Poker?” Isaac suggests. It’s been hours and they’re running out of things to do. Plus, he’s awesome at poker.

 

For a moment, Jackson just stares at him, before smirking. “Wanna make this a little more interesting?”

 

“How?”

 

“Strip poker.”

 

And oh, if that’s what Jackson wants, then it is _so_ on. He’s got this in the bag.

 

~*~

 

As it turns out, Jackson sucks at poker.

 

“Fuck. It’s time for a new game.”

 

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re losing.”

 

Jackson’s in nothing but his socks and a pair of boxers, while Isaac’s still mostly clothed. “Fuck off.”

 

Isaac smirks. But a grumpy Jackson’s an insufferable one, and since Isaac’s stuck here for who knows how long, he figures it might be wise to pick another game.

 

“Whatever. D’you know Gin Rum--”

 

“Truth or Dare.”

 

“What, are we twelve now?” Isaac snorts.

 

“You chose the last game. My house, my rules.”

 

Isaac tries and fails not to roll his eyes.

 

“You scared?”

 

“For fuck’s-- _fine_. Truth or dare?”

 

But Jackson’s shaking his head. “Nope, I’m starting. Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare.”

 

“I dare you to strip down to your boxers, too.”

 

“What? Just because you’re terrible at poker--”

 

“This isn’t up for debate, Lahey. Shut up and strip down.” He gestures towards Isaac.

 

Isaac glares, but eventually complies. He leaves his scarf on, though, just to piss Jackson off. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

 

Jackson smirks. “Truth.”

 

Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up. “You know I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying, right?”

 

“Just ask.”

 

“Ever had sex with a guy before?”

 

“No.”

 

“You ever wanted to?”

 

“That’s two questions, and no.”

 

It’s almost imperceptible, but Isaac catches the uptick of his heartbeat, and feels a sense of glee when he squeals, “That’s a lie.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Isaac smirks, can’t stop himself from saying, “Apparently you’d like to.”

 

Which turns out to be a bad idea. Jackson tackles him to the ground, turning it into a wrestling match. Until Isaac ends up pinned underneath Jackson, their bodies flush against each other. They’re hot, panting, and Isaac can’t help it...his body reacts. What he doesn’t expect is the hard press of Jackson’s erection against _his_ thigh.

 

Neither move for a long moment before, “Truth or dare?”

 

Isaac blinks. “What?”

 

“Truth. Or. Dare?” Jackson growls.

 

Isaac can’t think straight, but hears himself say, “Dare” because he’s sure that’s what Jackson wants him to say.

 

“I dare you to let me blow you.”

 

Isaac gapes, then nods. Jackson scoots down, settling between Isaac’s thighs, and tugs his boxers down enough to free his fully hard cock. Jackson takes the head of Isaac’s cock into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the slit, then swallows him down, fingers digging into Isaac’s hips.

 

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Isaac gasps, fingers threading into Jackson’s hair and tugging. Hard. Jackson moans, takes him deeper, and Isaac knows he’s not going to last long. All it takes is for Jackson to finger his balls and Isaac’s coming down his throat with a groan.

 

Jackson pulls off, tugging him in for a hard kiss.

 

“Truth or dare?” Isaac asks, when they separate.

 

Jackson grins. “Dare.”

 

“I dare you to fuck me.”

 

* * *

 

39.

 

**Warnings:** One is a vampire, so mentions of blood drinking and addiction

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Chosen Trope:** Reincarnation/Immortality, vampire

 

_The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling_

 

The breath _whomped_ out of Stiles as Derek pushed him against the wall.

 

“You smell like death.”

 

“You're hardly the poster boy for personal hygiene yourself,” Stiles snarled back at him, but it was a lie. Derek smelled fantastic. It wasn't even the rich coppery blood running just under the skin – Stiles could practically _see_ it running under Derek's skin – but he just smelled of the forest, of _life_.

 

Derek stepped back and looked at Stiles, up and down, eyes flashing red. Stiles just let his teeth show, just a little. Derek turned and fled out of the window. Stiles fumbled a hand into his trousers, shuddering.

 

~~~

 

They meet again. Stiles isn't sure who's following who any more.

 

~~~

 

They play the myths versus truths game one night, wishing they could both get drunk.

 

“Blood, and sun true. Immortal, true. Healing, assuming I've got access to blood, true. That's about it.”

 

“That sucks,” Derek said. “I've got everything – healing, super senses, strength...”

 

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Hey, does this mean I can come to you for a top up?”

 

“You mean – bite me?”

 

“Yeah, I mean – not all the time. Just sometimes, when I'm running low.”

 

Derek shrugged. “Sure.”

 

~~~

 

Turns out, werewolf drug is _amazing_.

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles slurred, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Derek pulled his wrist back, the skin already starting to close around the puncture wounds. “Its like being drunk. Fucking, amazing,” Stiles sighed, closing his eyes.

 

Derek shivered.

 

~~~ It becomes addictive, after a while. Derek wants to see Stiles strung out on his blood, and the pain is a kind of rush that he hadn't felt before. Stiles is careful, fingers stroking down Derek's side to wrap around his hip, other hand travelling up to cup his neck, pulling him close.

 

Stiles can't even describe what Derek's blood is like. He wants to savour it and gorge himself at the same time.

 

~~~

 

“It's been a while,” Stiles said as Derek shreds Stiles' shirt. Stiles could still taste Derek's blood in his mouth, and he could feel how flushed he was

 

“Yeah?” Derek said, distracted as he tugged at Stiles' belt, throwing it to one side.

 

“Decades,” Stiles choked out.

 

Derek paused, just for a moment. “You sure you can keep up, gramps?”

 

“Shut up, you fucker, and get in me.”

 

Derek coughed out a groan and slicked himself up. Stiles groaned as Derek slid home.

 

“Christ,” Derek said lowly.

 

They fucked frantically first, skin slapping obscenely against skin. Derek clawed into the mattress as he came.

 

~~~

 

Their second time was slow, tight controlled movements and bitten off words and groans.

 

~~~

 

“Time for me to go,” Stiles said. “People are starting to wonder already, I think.”

 

Derek froze. “Where are you going.”

 

“I've never been to Australia.”

 

“I have,” Derek said.

 

“I could always use a guide.”

 

* * *

 

40.

 

**Warnings** : magical dick

**Pairing** : Stiles’ dick/Everybody

 

They all stared at it, and that was wrong.

 

“Can you not?” Stiles’ voice was appropriately strained. He was sitting on Deaton’s decidedly not-for-human-butts examination slab, in his teeshirt. Just his Vulcan greeting teeshirt, because he wasn’t one to run around half naked --- except for now, naked on the wrong half, too. His pants along with his Wonder Woman underwear were tossed somewhere in the corner of the vet room like miserable concubines. “The _staring_. Can I just point out how uncomfortable this is making me? My morality knight Sir Scott, where has thy protection gone? My--- _dick is kind of being judged right now_!”

 

Scott’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at Stiles, as though well-meaning (probably was, which was totally wrong and not the point here.) “Sorry, Stiles, this is the only way.”

 

“My dick is **not** the only way! It is **not** the Elder Wand doing _Lumos_! Harry Potter kept his clothes on for that!”

 

“If it helps, you have a nice dick.” Isaac piped up, unhelpful as always. What was he even doing here.

 

“…Thanks.” Stiles groused anyway, glaring down at his own appendage. His shamefully standing, glowing dick. If you squint, the light leaned a little toward a soft aquamarine green (but please don’t). It was like a freestanding magical glow stick, and everyone was staring at it.

 

“You may have to lessen the … proximity, for this to work.” Deaton said somewhere in the background, peudo-helpfully.

 

“You all suck.” Stiles sounded like a dying man’s feeble protest to the bitch that was life.

 

“That might work.” Allison thinks she’s so funny, Stiles gritted his teeth, though his dick couldn’t help but twitch when her face got too close and a lock of her hair brushed by his crown. Allison shrugged, smiling, batting her big brown eyes and wielding those Disney Princess dimples like dual weaponry. “Same result, right?”

 

Both Scott and Isaac looked at her with a mixture of surprise and other things that Stiles didn’t really need to know about.

 

Lydia was definitely judging his dick. “Mm---She’s right you know, stimulation should maximize the glow.” (‘This is _not_ science!’ Stiles looked mightily betrayed.) Lydia made the judgey face at Stiles, the one where she flattens her lips cutely and combs a look from your head to toe, hotly condescending. (Stiles’ cock glowed brighter.) “Of course it’s science, Stiles. If bathing in the healing light of your cock really works, then who’s to say we won’t need it for a future mass-poison emergency again?” (All the bleeding, bruised, scratched present members said ‘ay’.) (Stiles hated them all.) (His cock glowed brighter, plotting against him.)

 

Later, on Stiles’ fourth orgasm (during which he was crying for help because his dick was raw it had to be _raw_ by now) because they discovered that cumming nullified the maximum healing light effect, Kira came running in holding up a papercut on her fingertip like it was passport, chirping something about ‘Might as well get healed!’

 

And Derek, when coerced into making his gaping wound close a little to make life easier (Stiles suspected that Derek just naturally didn’t know how to accomplish this in life), gave Stiles one of the most intense orgasms of Stiles’ life with his mouth, and Stiles accidentally came all over the guy’s face when Derek pulled away instead of swallowing or spit his cum out elsewhere. Stiles stared at Derek’s cum-covered face in alarm, body frozen like a raccoon caught eating your trash, “Uh.”

 

Derek (miraculously) calmly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, and then casually licked the cum clean off of his hand while glancing down at the hole in his stomach that was quickly closing up now that the poison was gone from his system. “Thanks.”

 

What was Stiles supposed to say to that.

 

“---er. Anytime.”


	3. Group C (With Pairings & Warnings)

41.

 

 **Warnings:** Non-human/human sex, dubious/non-con due to mistaken identity

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Danny, Stiles/tentacled thing

 **Chosen Trope:** Tentacles!

 

“Danny, _no_ ,” Stiles said, slapping yet another tentacle away from his groin. “We need to get you changed back before you have to go home – or god, at least before lacrosse practice tomorrow. Coach will have a seizure.”

 

Although given the reach Danny had in his current state, perhaps Stiles should be more concerned Coach might do his best to keep him in it. He watched Danny wind the tip of one tentacle around the monitor and slide it closer to them. There was probably some sort of sucker arrangement keeping him attached to the back of Stiles's desk chair, and--

 

No, no distractions. He tapped on the keyboard but hardly had a few words typed into the search box before it was snatched away from him.

 

“Oh, okay.” He guessed Danny could still type that way, if he used those pointy, dextrous tips-- but apparently not, from the gibberish that ended up on his screen. He couldn't blame Danny for being frustrated about it, but throwing the keyboard at the wall was going too far.

 

“Hey, don't do that.” Something suspiciously tentacle-like was sliding around one ankle, and then the other. “Not that I don't appreciate the thought, since you know, we did have plans, but--”

 

He hadn't thought those plans had included binding Stiles's arms to his chair, but Stiles was not objecting to the idea in principle. He should be objecting to the idea at this precise moment, given Danny's distinctly non-human shape, but he'd always prided himself on being more adventurous than your average teenager, hadn't he?

 

“You're really into this, huh?” he said, watching two glistening limbs snake their way up his bare thighs. Something tickled the side of his face, and he leaned into it. How many tentacles did he even have? It couldn't be natural, that was for sure. And okay, it was either a magical lake or it was some effect of the spells those warlock people had been throwing after them or _something_ , but was it too much to ask that they turned his boyfriend into something he could at least put a species name to?

 

“I wish you could talk,” Stiles said, but then something wriggled under the hem of his t-shirt and made him gasp. It was different there, different somehow on that vulnerable hidden skin than it was on his arms, but it didn't feel bad. It felt-- alien, perhaps. Distinctly non-human, which, yeah. That made sense. Different from a werewolf sort of non-human, though Danny would know more about that than him.

 

That was probably why he didn't object when the tentacles nudged gently at his boxers again.

 

“Go for it,” he said, voice catching as it barely waited for him to finish before sliding in. Stiles let his head fall back, let those smooth coils wrap around his dick and tighten their grip. They pulled at him gently, lifting him almost out of the chair, his hips arching up.

 

“Oh fuck, Danny,” he groaned, and came all over his own chest.

 

Danny's face was right in front of his when he opened his eyes.

 

“You changed back!” He had to touch Danny's face. It was good, it was a nice face. He would have missed it if Danny was stuck as a tentacle monster for long.

 

“Back?” Danny said, just as something cool and smooth tickled at Stiles's ankle once more.

 

* * *

 

 

42.

 

 **Warnings:** implied dub-con?

 **Pairing:** Danny/Jackson

 **Chosen Trope:** Wingfic

 

 

“You _knew_ ,” he hissed as he pointed an accusatory finger at his best friend. Danny didn’t even look phased; just slightly amused as he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Duh. You _did_ tell me,” he pointed out and Jackson scowled before shoving him. “No. That’s not-,” he let out a sound of frustration, ignoring the light frown that marred his friend’s features. “You knew. When I told you, you didn’t even bat an eyelash. _Why._ ”

 

“Jackson, can we do this later? I told you, the rest of the pack needs-”

 

“You don’t get to do that! Dammit, Danny, answer my question!”

 

Danny looked pained, and Jackson tightened his jaw to keep the apology that immediately tried to claw its way out of his throat at bay. He wasn’t going to apologize for wanting an answer to a simple question. He owed him that much.

 

The heavy, accommodating sigh that followed was expected. What he didn’t expect was to watch his childhood best friend change before his eyes. His skin took on a slightly darker hue as a pair of sleek, black horns spiraled out on either side of his head. The duo stared at each other for a few heartbeats, Danny’s now orange eyes almost wary as they watched Jackson, but that wasn’t what Jackson was staring at.

 

It was the dark wings that fanned out from Danny’s back that had his attention, and he reached out to touch one before he even realized what he was doing.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Danny murmured as the wing flinched away from him, but Jackson snorted. “Shut up.”

 

The wings spread with a flutter when he did get his hands on them, palms pressed to the silky warmth of them. The shudder that chased it’s way down Danny’s spine and through the wings made Jackson smirk.

 

_Not your type, my ass._

 

He let his fingers trace over the light patterns he found in the wings, something like satisfaction burning low in his belly when Danny stretched them wider, as if arching into the touch. When he pressed his mouth to one of them, it was like an electric shock to his system through his tongue to his toes, and the moan that escaped him was even more of a surprise.

 

Almost as shocking as having Danny pinning him to the wall was, wings curled around them and the patterns now dimly lit to match his eyes. His mouth was soft though, and Jackson couldn’t help the way he melted into the kiss, the hands that roamed his body, and when Danny’s hand wrapped around his cock, his head dropped back against the wall.

 

Danny worked him slowly, making him arch and whine until he was ready to beg. Danny stepped in close with a smirk spread across his features and wings spread wide as he leaned in to Jackson’s ear.

 

“Get back to Beacon Hills, Jackson.”

 

He twisted his wrist in the same instant he sunk his fangs into Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson clawed viciously into Danny’s wings with a shout before everything went white.

 

Jackson woke up, wolfed out, with the pillow he had apparently been rutting into, (rather than Danny’s hand), covered in cum and claw marks in his sheets. He stripped the whole bed with a vicious scowl and didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

 

\-----

 

Two weeks later when he set foot in Beacon Hills, his best friend was no where to be found, but tucked in between a couple of pages of Stilinski’s research, titled **“INCUBUS”** was a small note, scrawled in Danny’s hand.

 

_Still not my type._

 

* * *

 

43.

 

 **Warnings:** Hardboiled Slang

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Historical-Noir-1930s

 

Stiles is sitting in a poorly-lit dive bar on his way to getting smoked, when a handsome fella in glad rags walks in the joint. The man’s a tall, dark and dangerous looking cat. He exudes sex and uncertainty, and Stiles can’t help if he’s just the kind of wrong that he’s desperately attracted to.

 

He summons the barkeep over, drops a sawbuck, orders himself a corn whiskey neat and sends an armagnac over for Tall Dark. It doesn’t take long before Stiles gets his man.

 

“Let’s dust out, go back to yours,” the handsome stranger says.

 

“I’ll lead the way,” Stiles chins.

 

-

 

“Why don’t we dip the bill and make ourselves a little more comfortable,” Tall Dark suggests. He removes his flogger and skimmer, lays them out on the luggage rack while Stiles goes over to the bar and fixes them up a snort of hooch.

 

Stiles takes off his jacket and walks over, hands him a rocks glass. They share a look, pregnant with arousal.

 

“I’m called Stiles.” he offers.

 

Tall Dark jerks a nod. “Derek,” is all he says, simple, down to business.

 

Derek throws back his eel juice and sets the glass down. Places his hand on Stiles’s hip.

 

“How do you want this to play out Stiles?” Derek asks. “What is it you want from me?”

 

Stiles licks his lips, looks his fill at Derek’s mug.

 

“I want you on your _knees_.”

 

Derek moves his hand from Stiles’s side, runs it up his arm, to the back of this neck. He pulls Stiles in with blunt force so that they're in each other’s space, breathing the same air. Derek sucks Stiles’s bottom lip into his mouth.

 

He sucks and bites down and makes Stiles moan with the pain-pleasure of it. Just as the burn is too sharp, he releases his lip and pulls away. Stiles’s fingers immediately fly to his kisser where there’s a drop of blood. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tonguing the coppery gash.

 

It’s got Stiles turned on, his dick plumping and leaking hot in his trousers.

 

Stiles then goes for Derek's buttons, frantic to rid Derek of his rags. He strips him bare and zeros in on his cock, mouth almost going dry.

 

“Like what you’re peepin’?”

 

Derek reaches around and grips Stiles by his ass, dragging him in so that they are sharing air again while he waits for his answer.

 

“You’re hittin’ on all eight, I got no kick,” Stiles hums out.

 

Derek goes back in for another kiss. Stiles is licking into his mouth with the fervor of a kitten with it’s beezer in the cream. Derek is sucking hard, fucking his tongue in and out of Stiles’s mouth. Stiles kisses back like he’s been deprived of the act his whole life. Like this is the last time he’ll get it this good.

 

Derek breaks off and starts sucking along Stiles’s ear and neck. Stiles is like a bitch in heat rubbing against his dick, and it feels so fucking good.

 

He picks Stiles up by the back of his thighs, wraps Stiles’s gams around his waist and walks them over to the bed. Derek throws his fella down, rids him of his rags then crawls in-between Stiles’s spread legs.

 

He gathers all the wetness he can in his mouth and spits it all over Stiles’s dick. He nuzzles the crown of Stiles’s cock then sticks his tongue out to taste. Derek laves at his slit for a long while making Stiles whine with impatience.

 

Derek then takes the tip in his mouth, gives it a strong suck and Stiles keens, full-mouthed. He takes Stiles’s dick low, tries to see how far down he can go before he chokes.

 

Stiles tastes salty and syrupy on his tastebuds, _delicious_. Derek bobs his kisser up and down sucking hard. Stiles is writhing like he’s gonna blow his gat any second.

 

Derek reaches down, rolls Stiles’s balls in-between his fingers, then dips down, pushes a finger into Stiles dry. He feels Stiles contract and flutter around the intrusion.

 

“Goddamn, _Derek._ ” he shouts out, bowing his back, pushing even further down Derek’s throat as he comes in jig time, shoots off all over Derek’s lips.

 

“Damn, you’re so silk Derek, so aces. You know _just_ what to do to me,” Stiles says, breathing heavy, coming down from popping his stones.

 

“That was top-notch Kitten,” Derek chins as he wipes the come from his mug and licks his fingers dry. "And we're just getting started."

 

* * *

 

44.

 

 **Warnings:** public sex  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Chosen Trope:** crossdressing  
  
Derek couldn't stop staring. He was frozen in place while his mind worked frantically to verify that yes, this was what he was seeing. That was indeed Stiles up on stage in a wig and a dress. A very short dress.  
  
Damn he looked good.  
  
Stiles's eyes met Derek's. His steps faltered in the dance he was doing for just a beat and then he was back to shimmying and sashaying to the pounding music. Derek watched, fascinated, as Stiles danced. He wasn't the best dancer, but he was enthusiastic, moving to the music like it was part of his soul. Derek found himself hardening as he watched. Every turn made Stiles's skirt ride up, showing bits of exposed pale flesh.  
  
The show was over too soon. Stiles disappeared into the backstage without a second glance and Derek was left half-hard with no idea what to do next.  
  
"Hey, handsome."  
  
Derek turned. Stiles had lost the wig and changed shirts but he still wore the skirt and high heels. Derek's eyes drifted lower and stayed there.  
  
Stiles smirked and twirled. He moved surprisingly well in those heels. "Like it?"  
  
"Yeah," Derek admitted.  
  
"Cool. Wanna go outside?"  
  
Derek raised an eyebrow. There was no way Stiles was offering what Derek thought he was offering. Stiles batted his eyelashes at Derek and played with the hem of his skirt. Okay, so maybe he was offering. The question was whether Derek would accept.  
  
Of course he would. Stiles in a skirt was just plain hot.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Stiles grinned and grabbed Derek's hand. He led Derek through the club and out the back door. Once they were outside, away from the prying eyes of the other club patrons, Stiles pushed Derek up against the wall and kissed him. Derek's eyes went wide. He wasn't used to this forceful side of Stiles.  
  
He kind of liked it.  
  
Derek's hands drifted to the edge of Stiles's skirt almost of their own volition. He fingered the hem, debating going further. Stiles moaned against Derek's mouth and pushed back against Derek's hands. Derek slipped his hands under Stiles's skirt and grabbed two handfuls of ass.  
  
"You can do better than that," Stiles said, his lips only a fraction from Derek's own.  
  
Derek pressed a finger to the cleft of Stiles's ass. "You mean like this?"  
  
"Yeah." Stiles pushed back against the finger. "Just like that."  
  
Derek slid his fingers under Stiles's underwear and pressed against his hole.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles repeated. "Want you to fuck me."  
  
Derek's eyebrows rose. "Yeah?"  
  
Stiles writhed against Derek, rubbing their hips together. Derek groaned. He was close enough to coming that all it would take was a few more seconds. "I'm going to fuck you," Derek promised. "Later." When he had lube and possibly a bed. "When I can do it right."  
  
"I'll hold you to that."  
  
Derek wrapped his free arm around Stiles and turned them. He pushed a leg between Stiles's legs and thrust. He could feel Stiles's erection pressing against his leg. Stiles panted. His hands gripped Derek's shoulders tight.  
  
It only took seconds of rutting before they were coming, making a mess of their underwear and staining the front of Stiles's skirt.  
  
Stiles leaned bonelessly against the wall. "That was better than I imagined."  
  
Derek grinned and whispered in Stiles's ear. "When I fuck you, it will be even better."

 

* * *

 

  
45.

 **Warnings:** No warnings unless you count snarky sex.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Chosen Trope:** Domestic AU with a tiny twist at the end.

“Are we actually sitting here watching paint dry?” Stiles asks for the seventh time in the last ten minutes. “This is our life now. We watch paint dry. I’ve turned into a person who sits and watches paint dry.”

”Stiles, you know we have to wait for it to dry so we can start the second coat before the stencils” Derek says calmly.

“Oh of course, can’t forget that second coat,” Stiles rolls his eyes and stares harder at the paint drying on the wall in front of him.

It’s quiet for about thirty seconds.

“Derek! I’m bored. Make me unbored,” Stiles whines.

“Make you unbored?” Derek’s eyebrows do a complicated scrunch,

“Ha, you made a funny,” Stiles sticks out his tongue, “I'm dying laughing here.”

“Ha, fucking, Ha,” Derek rolls his eyes and continues to stare at the drying paint.

“These fumes have to be making you loopy. They’re making me loopy and I don’t even have all the werewolfy, supermojoy senses.” Stiles twirls his paintbrush around on the drop cloth he’s sitting on, getting light green paint spattered everywhere.

“Stop that. You’re making a mess.” Derek grumbles.

“What? It’s not like it matters.” Stiles says, “And besides, you didn't answer my question. ‘fess up!”

“If I answer will you shut up?” Derek pulls his hand through his hair.

“Maybe, I might even tell you, you just got paint in your hair”

Derek throws his paintbrush at Stiles.

* * *

  
  
**_An indeterminate amount of paint drying time later_ **

* * *

“So, you wanna do it?”

Derek looks him straight in the eyes and deadpans, “Who says romance is dead?”

“That wasn’t a no…” Stiles grins and slides across the floor to Derek’s side.

“Why do I put up with you?” Derek pulls Stiles into straddle his lap and starts kissing his neck.

“Because you can’t get enough of this sexy bod?” Stiles kisses him and licks into his mouth as he settles into Derek’s lap thighs bracketing his body.

“Yeah, totally the sexy bod,” Derek runs his fingers down Stiles side and rucks up his paint stained t-shirt until he reaches soft, smooth skin, “I’ve been hot for your bod for years.”

Stiles giggles into Derek’s neck, “that would explain a lot,” he loops his arms around Derek’s neck and runs his long fingers through his dark, short hairs getting caught in the dying paint speckled throughout the strands.

“I never thought I would find painting sexy but I think I’m starting to see the appeal,” Stiles whispers and he rocks into the cradle of Derek’s hip. His dick rubbing against Derek’s thigh through the layers of their clothes.

Derek pulls Stiles in closer and pushes up into his rocking motion as they both settle into a steady rhythm. His own clothed dick rubbing into the groove of Stiles thigh.

“Yeah, like that, just a little harder,” Stiles breathes.

Stiles reaches between them and pops the button on Derek’s jeans pushing his hand into his underwear and pulling out Derek’s hard dick. Stiles rubs his fingers over the head and smears pre-cum down the shaft creating just enough slick to make it good.

“I love your dick,” Stiles babbles, “like I mean really love it. You have no idea. It’s just the right size and fits just right into my hand and you make the most awesome noises when I do this,” Stiles twists his wrist just so and Derek let’s out a high pitched whine, “Hottest thing ever, like for real.”

“Stiles for the love of god. Just shut up and come already!” Derek licks his palm and reaches into Stiles sweat pants gives two tugs on his dick and Stiles stiffens and comes in his arms without a word.

Derek ruts into Stiles lax hand once more and comes between them.

They both go orgasm hazy for a few minutes.

“It’s your fault we waited to paint the nursery till the last minute anyway,” Stiles grins as he stands up and shimmies out of his paint stained pants. He walks into their bedroom his naked ass peeking out from beneath his shirt tails.

Derek whimpers and stares at him as he leaves the room. It takes him all of ten seconds to rush after into their bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

46.

 

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Sterek

 **Chosen Trope:** Fake!Boyfriends

 

“Look, it's not that hard. All you have to do is wear a suit, hold my hand a little bit, and make everyone else jealous,” Stiles says, his cell phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he searches for his wallet. The woman at the cash register eyes the pile of junk food making its way down the conveyer belt, then raises her eyebrow. Stiles shrugs, the phone slipping from his shoulder, and he scrambles to catch it.

 

“Stiles, I am not pretending to be your boyfriend for your college reunion.”

 

“C’mon,” Stiles whines, passing the still judgey woman a twenty, “Derek, please? How many times have I saved your life, and you can’t do me one favor?”

 

“It was once, twelve years ago. And I’m pretty sure you cashed in that favor when I helped you move into your house.”

 

Stiles scoffs.

 

“That didn’t count, you were paid in pizza and beer.”

 

The woman hands Stiles his change and receipt, and he carefully slips his wallet back into his pocket, grabs the bag of food, and heads out of the grocery store.

 

“You know I don’t drink,” Derek continues, still sounding slightly annoyed and slightly fond. “And you made me carry a fold-out couch up a flight of stairs. That’s nearly attempted murder.”

 

“Dude, I will pay for your tux rental or whatever. I had one boyfriend in college, and he was an ass, and I need to show these guys how awesome I’ve gotten since I graduated. Just… Please? It’s important to me.”

 

There’s a long, silent pause as Stiles fumbles his keys into the door of the Jeep, then buckles in. The engine ticks over in slow, lumberous seconds, until there’s a loud sigh through the phone.

 

“Fine,” Derek says, “but you’re driving.”

 

\---

 

Stiles fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket, tugging them to cover the bony edges of his wrists. He’s unreasonably nervous about his fake date, even went to the trouble of renting a nice car. _It’s just a fake date with Derek,_ he reminds himself, stepping up the front door of his apartment and ringing the bell.

 

Of course, Derek looks phenomenal. His suit clings to his shoulders, tapers in at the waist, accents the hard planes of him with soft, grey wool. His scruff has been trimmed and tamed into something more classy, and Stiles has the sudden desire to feel it against the tender skin of his thighs.

 

“You look good,” he says instead, his voice unexpectedly gruff. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss dinner.”

 

Derek looks Stiles up and down, then nods approvingly. He shuts the door behind him, then slides his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

 

“You, too,” he says, pulling away from a stunned Stiles and heading towards the car, a slightly cocky grin on his face. “Let’s go.”

 

Stiles is frozen on the porch for longer than he should be. He slowly makes his way to the car, knees weak. Derek is leaning against it, still grinning, and Stiles immediately starts thinking about how he can get revenge.

 

\---

 

Stiles’ back hits the tiled bathroom wall _hard_ , but he barely notices the twinge as Derek presses up against his front, hands bunched up with the fabric of his suit jacket, teeth nipping at the hinge of his jaw.

 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles groans, threading his fingers into Derek’s hair. Derek silences him with a kiss, gets his leg in between Stiles’ and presses in. Stiles thrusts up against the solid weight of Derek’s leg, then groans when he feels Derek hard against his hip. Stiles pulls himself away, gasping.

 

“What the fuck,” he pants, “is happening right now?”

 

Derek starts fumbling with Stiles’ belt.

 

“This is your fault,” he says, palming Stiles’ cock through his boxers. “You are entirely to blame for this. I’m going to fuck you in the bathroom of an academic building, and it is _not_ my fault.”

 

Stiles groans, thrusts up into Derek’s hand, and starts nodding.

 

“I am so okay with that,” he says, pulling Derek into the handicapped stall and slamming the door behind him. “There’s lube in my back pocket.”

 

Derek drops to his knees, licking his lips as he pulls Stiles’ free.

 

“I know,” he says, before his mouth’s too busy to say more.

 

* * *

 

47.

 

 **Warnings:** PDA (if you hate that thing)

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Scott

 **Chosen Trope:** Pretend boyfriends

 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Scott gave his best wounded-puppy look towards the _Slicer’s Pizzeria_ sign, as if it held all the answers. Stiles really needed to teach Scott some new facial expressions; he was _the_ Alpha now. Derek, for his part, had just let his eyebrow talk for him. Typical.

 

“Look, as much as I’m loath to admit it... Peter’s right. Unless you want to be some sort of involuntary prize in a twisted version of ‘Werewolf Bachelor,’ you need a fiancee.” Stiles explained. _Again._

 

Scott’s brow furrowed. He really was an overgrown puppy. “But... can’t I just _say_ I’m engaged?”

 

“Won’t work,” Derek reminded him. _Again._ “Werewolves remember.”

 

“But-”

 

“Scotty? Trust me. Nobody loves you more than me. I _got_ this.” Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder, ignoring Derek’s mumbled, “we’re doomed.”

 

It really wasn’t Scott’s fault that a few packs thought Scott was the most eligible bachelor, since he was an Alpha with prime supernatural territory, thanks to the tree stump of phenomenal cosmic power.

 

Stiles sighed. Maybe next year they could catch a break.

 

 

Scott’s meeting with the pack leaders, and their _seven_ prospects, could be described as dropping a bunny into a room full of... well... wolves. Stiles was 93% sure that if they had been outside, fangs and fighting would have ensued.

 

Worse, the leaders fought to dominant Scott’s attention, and poor Scott couldn’t get an word in edgewise.

 

And it had been giving Stiles a headache.

 

Stepping behind Scott, Stiles wrapped an arm around him and slipped a hand into Scott’s front pocket. A deafening silence slammed down upon the room.

 

Stiles kissed Scott’s neck, letting his thumb slide under the hem of Scott’s t-shirt. “I’m gonna get us something to drink. Derek, you want something?”

 

Stiles glanced over at Derek, in total sourwolf mode, with his eyes narrowed and nose flaring, like he wanted to smack Stiles. “Sure.”

 

Stiles walked off, calling, “Thanks for the wallet!” as he held up Scott’s billfold. Scott just patted his own back pocket, looking for the wallet that Stiles now had.

 

While waiting at the counter, Stiles could see the reactions from the seven females. Three looked disheartened, two watched Stiles in shock--Stiles just winked at them--and one looked downright angry. The last tried to turn up the sexy to eleven.

 

Fooling werewolves was easier than Stiles had thought.

 

 

“Okay.” Stiles plopped down the drinks. “Derek, I got you unsweetened ice tea, because you’re odd like that. Scott - Cherry Pepsi. And I have Moutain Dew, because I need the caffeine from you keeping me up all night.” Which wasn’t a lie. Scott’s freakout texts lasted until 4 a.m. “The rest of you can pick what you want,” Stiles said, gesturing to some empty cups.

 

 

The werewolves gathered around the table, leaving the head for Scott, who was downing his drink fast enough to make Stiles wonder if werewolves could drown from soda drinking.

 

“Oh, I can do all night,” the amped-up-sexy wolf purred, bending over to pop her breasts out. “Unlike _others_.”

 

Stiles snorted, placing a hand on Scott’s nape, calming him. “Quality over quantity.”

 

“Do you expect me to believe that a great Alpha like Scott McCall would settle for someone like you?”

 

Stiles saw Derek’s eyes flash blue, but neither Scott nor Stiles reacted to him.

 

Stiles just shrugged, pulling Scott’s face toward him. Stiles could hear the sharp inhale from the table as he fitted his lips over Scott’s.

 

Using his thumb, Stiles rubbed the corner of Scott’s lip, coaxing it open. Stiles deepened the kiss, pulling Scott’s tongue into his mouth slowly. Stiles’s free hand ran deliberately down Scott’s chest, mapping out Scott’s muscles. Scott wrapped one arm around Stiles’s waist, but Stiles felt it was more to ground himself than showing off.

 

Stiles broke the kiss when he heard Derek’s plastic cup snap.

 

Stiles ignored the apologetic look Scott threw Derek, instead giving Miss Showy Tits the biggest smug grin he could. “Seein’ is believin’.”

 

After that, the meeting turned to boring topics and networking until the packs decided to call it a night.

 

“See, man? Told you it’d work.” Stiles stretched so hard he felt his shirt ride up, earning _another_ scowl from Derek. He’d ask tomorrow what crawled up the sourwolf’s butt. Right now, he was tired.

 

* * *

 

48.

 

**Warnings: dub-con of the aphrodisiac variety**

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

**Chosen Trope: arranged marriage and sex pollen/aphrodisiac**

 

He walked into the chamber to see his new husband lying on his - their - bed.

 

He hadn't looked like this before, at the ceremony. Then, he'd looked defiant and a little scared, wearing his sarcasm like armour. Derek couldn't blame him. It was bad enough to be marrying for political reasons, but to leave everything you know, to be offered to a man you've never met, was worse.

 

So he hadn't blamed his husband for his cutting remarks or his distance; instead, he admired his grit. Still, Derek anticipated an awkward consummation. He didn't anticipate this.

 

Stiles was naked, so flushed he looked feverish, his eyes wide and dark as he squirmed against the sheets. He was hard, his dick almost purple with arousal. He was utterly undone - nothing at all like the man Derek had met earlier. It was a disconcerting contrast.

 

"Derek?" Stiles sounded out of breath and distressed. "Is that you?"

 

Derek tried to focus on anything other than the restless movement of Stiles' body.

 

"Who else would it be?"

 

"Your uncle, he was here, he made me drink, oh, I don't know." He was barely coherent. "Derek, I don't– I'm not sure– I need–"

 

"Damn him," Derek swore, but he moved to sit next to Stiles on the bed. "It's okay, Stiles. It's going to be okay."

 

"This isn't me," Stiles said fiercely, regaining for a brief moment the steel that Derek had seen earlier. "Don't expect me to–" But he cut himself off, moaning more in pain than in pleasure.

 

"I know, I don't," Derek told him while cupping his cheek gently with his hand, and Stiles turned into his touch.

 

"But for now, will you– will you take care of me?"

 

"I'm pretty sure I already swore an oath today that I would," Derek said, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up.

 

"Then, oh, please, please," Stiles trailed off as he sat up and pawed ineffectually at Derek's trousers.

 

When Derek grabbed his hands and pushed them away, Stiles made a broken noise and looked up at him with wide eyes.

 

"I'll undress. I'll be right back, I promise," Derek held Stiles' gaze until he nodded, closing his eyes and biting his lip.

 

Derek took deep breaths. This wasn't what he wanted, not from a man he hoped he could come to see as a partner. But he couldn't lie to himself, and had difficulty removing his clothing over the bulge that had grown when he saw Stiles, beautiful, aroused and in need - in need of him, specifically.

 

He returned to the bed, but before he could move himself over Stiles, Stiles had grabbed his shoulders and, in an impressive show of grace and strength, put Derek on his back. He quickly moved down Derek's body and opened his lips - red and swollen already - around Derek's cock.

 

Derek groaned, feeling the wet heat moving down his shaft, until he heard a gagging sound coming from Stiles and saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

 

He pulled Stiles off but, in response to Stiles' whispered pleas, allowed him to move back down, holding Stiles' hair tightly in his hands and carefully controlling his movements. Derek felt heat shooting through his body as Stiles seemed content to let Derek direct him.

 

When he stopped again, he didn't give in to Stiles' desperate attempts to get him back in his mouth.

 

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Derek asked, and he was surprised at how glad he was that he knew the answer would be yes.

 

Someone had left oil by the bed - it was their wedding night, after all - and Derek used it to open Stiles up, as quickly as he felt he could, but far too slow for Stiles, who couldn't even form words. He moved himself on Derek's fingers as much as he could, as much as Derek let him, and tears trickled down his cheeks.

 

When Derek finally slicked up his cock and pressed himself inside, Stiles' legs hooked around him tightly and it wasn't long - it couldn't be long - before Stiles cried out. Then Derek came too, pushing into Stiles' exhausted body a few more times.

 

"Thank you," Stiles murmured as he slipped into sleep.

 

Derek wondered whether Stiles would be thanking him in the morning. It didn't matter, he decided. He had all the time in the world to convince Stiles to thank him again.

 

* * *

 

 

49.

 **Warnings:** accidental voyeurism

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Forced proximity. Outsider POV. THE SHERIFF (because he's totally his own trope, and you can't convince me otherwise)

 

He thinks it probably says something about both his life, and his son, that he doesn’t even blink when he walks into the kitchen after a long shift to find Derek Hale slumped at their table, looking about as weary as he feels.

 

“Heeeey uh, Dad,” Stiles says. He’s standing in front of the sink, and it looks like he’s been washing blood off his hands. _Jesus_ , but John’s too damn old for this.

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“Umm…”Stiles hedges. “So there was a thing. With a witch?”

 

“Annnnd, that would be why Derek is sitting at our kitchen table at 11pm?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

John sighs. Stiles looks guilty.

 

“I might have….”

 

“Acted like an idiot?” Derek offers tiredly.

 

“Oh don’t _even_ , big guy.” Stiles points an accusing finger at Derek’s chest. “You were the one who got himself kidnapped in the first place.”

 

John clears his throat, and Stiles, looking chagrined, continues, “So uh. _Anyways_. We got cursed. By the witch. And funny story, but now we can’t get like more than five feet from each other for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Right, and by foreseeable you mean…?”

 

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that question, so he braces himself by collapsing into the chair next to Derek. He gives the werewolf a grateful nod when Derek nudges a beer that he obviously hasn’t touched in his direction. He is not a man to waste alcohol. No he isn’t.

 

“Next full moon,” Derek says, and John can’t help but wonder if he’s more worried about the fact that the full moon isn’t for another two weeks, or about the fact that Derek doesn’t look as upset by this as he thinks he should. John sighs and rubs at his temples. He wonders how he missed someone as broken and lonely as _Derek Hale_ falling in love with his son.

 

He motions with the mouth of the beer bottle at Derek. “You can sleep on the floor.”

 

~

 

The whole Derek-sleeping-on-the-floor thing doesn’t even last one night.

 

~

 

By day three, John thinks he might have to reassess his whole stance on not thinking of the werewolves in terms of actual puppies. Scott doesn’t always make that easy, but this thing with Derek? It’s rocking his worldview in ways that learning about werewolves in the first place hadn’t even done.

 

Derek basically just follows Stiles around from room to room, and yeah sure, he grumbles. He and Stiles snipe back and forth like it’s the only form of communication they know, but he also doesn’t even hesitate when Stiles absently asks him to do something. Hell, Stiles doesn’t even have to ask, half the time. Derek has just started automatically doing things for him.

 

John thinks it’s sort of charming. Which does nothing to discourage his desire to start making subtle threats whenever Derek is anywhere within the vicinity. He’s still Stiles’ dad dammit. Also, his gun has never been cleaner.

 

~

 

John opens the front door. He’d spilled coffee on his uniform, and he figures it’ll only take a minute to change. It’s almost 2am, so he’s sure Stiles and Derek are sleeping, but better to be safe than sorry.

 

He heads up the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky spots, and starts toward his bedroom.

 

Only to stop.

 

He’s not an idiot OK? He _knows_ what those noises mean, but it’s like a train wreck or something. Or maybe he’s just a masochist.

 

He pushes the door to Stiles’ room open and immediately slaps his hands over his eyes. And fuck. No not _fuck_. Oh _god_. He just really needs to un-see the image of his son on hands and knees as Derek…

 

“Dad!” Stiles voice breaks, and there’s the sound of scrambling, and John is still just standing there with his hand over his eyes like an idiot.

 

“I thought you were working. Work! It’s a thing. That you do. Were supposed to be doing…”Stiles babbles, stopping only when Derek hisses his name too intimately for John’s liking.

 

“I had to…” he doesn’t remember what he had to do. “Spilled coffee. On my uniform.”

 

“We’re decent,” Derek offers quietly.

 

John finally uncovers his eyes, but despite the fact that they are no longer….doing anything. And there are sheets covering all the important bits…it’s all still way more than he needs to be seeing. “I hope for your sake that you’re using protection,” he says finally. And yeah. John officially hates his life.

 

* * *

 

 

50.

 **Warnings:** none

 **Pairing:** Scott/Isaac

 **Chosen Trope:** Pretend Couple

 

 

Isaac, Melissa, and Scott let out another loud peal of laughter. It had been so long since they had all been together. Scott had missed it. He had certainly missed the look of genuine happiness on Isaac’s face. He hadn’t seen Isaac smile like that in weeks.

 

 

Scott almost jumped when Melissa touched his face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

 

 

Scott plastered on a fake smile. “Nothing.”

 

 

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

 

 

“No, it’s going to be good.”

 

 

“It’s going to be more than good.” Melissa beamed. “I can’t believe my baby’s graduating from medical school.”

 

 

“You can’t believe it? I’m sure there are some teachers from high school who are still trying to close their mouths from the shock. No one thought I was smart enough.”

 

 

“Hey!” Melissa punched him lightly on the shoulder.

 

 

“Ow!” Scott whined.

 

 

“No one talks about my baby like that, not even you.” Melissa said sternly. “I always knew you could do anything.” Then she turned and took Isaac’s hand. “And you...”

 

 

Isaac looked a bit startled. “I haven’t done anything.”

 

 

“Yes, you have. You’ve worked your butt off to go to school, all the while supporting my son and being the best boyfriend he could ever ask for. You bet your ass you’ve done something.”

 

 

Scott and Isaac shared a look. Scott could see the guilt in Isaac’s eyes. He was sure the same was reflected in his own.

 

 

“I hate to put pressure on you. Now that school’s done, don’t you think it’s time to think about settling down.”

 

 

Scott groaned. “Mom…”

 

 

“What?” Melissa cried. “Don’t mom me. I know it sounds cliche but I would like to have grandchildren one day.”

 

 

Scott looked over at Isaac, who was making confetti out of the napkin in his lap.

 

 

Melissa looked over at Isaac. “Don’t you two want a future together?”

 

 

Scott gulped. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the pretense anymore. “Mom…”

 

 

“I think about it all the time.” Isaac practically whispered. “The first night Scott kissed me, he pulled back and I looked into his warm eyes and I just knew...This was it for me.” He finished as he looked directly at Scott.

 

 

All the air rushed out of Scott’s lungs & he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He ran out of the room before he could hurl or cry or throttle Isaac, or a combination of the three.

 

 

When Isaac found him, Scott threw a pillow at his face. “You can’t sleep in here tonight. I don’t care if my mom finds out…” He blew out a breath. “This was such a bad idea.”

 

 

“Scott, I meant what I said in there.”

 

 

Scott stalked across the room and bunched his hands in Isaac’s shirt. “How could you say that? You broke up with me. You _tore_ my heart out and didn’t even tell me why. You’re only here because I didn’t have the heart to tell my mother about the break-up. And then you go and you say something like that. Why?”

 

 

“I meant it.”

 

 

“Stop saying that!” Scott yelled, not caring if his mother heard. He turned around.

 

Isaac laid a tentative hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I broke up with you because I could see the way our lives were headed. You are becoming the amazing man that you’ve alway been meant to be. And I...I’m the loser that my father always said I’d be. I didn’t want to drag you down anymore, Scott. But I meant what I said.”

 

 

Scott blinked.

 

 

“I meant it. I love you.”

 

 

Scott didn’t know who reached for who first and didn’t care. Their mouths crashed together and soon there was a flurry of clothes cast aside. When they were finally skin to skin, Scott sighed into Isaac’s mouth. He was home again and the overwhelming feeling made tears spring to his eyes.

 

 

Isaac pulled back & wiped a tear from the corner of Scott’s eye. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

Scott stroked Isaac’s cheek and kissed him again.

 

 

Isaac laid him down gently on the bed. His hands were gentle on Scott’s hips as he entered him again for the first time in weeks. Isaac shuddered against him. He kissed a litany of ILYs and “I’m sorrys” into Scott’s skin as he thrust inside of him deeply.

 

 

After they both came, Isaac laid down against Scott’s chest & Scott could feel the wetness against his skin. He lifted up Isaac’s head and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled back and Isaac finally at him. “You’ll never be a loser to me. I’m so lucky to be loved by you and don’t you ever forget that again.”

 

* * *

 

51.

 **Warnings:** Dub-con

 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Sex Pollen

 

Stiles really should have known better. “I told -- told you,” Scott panted as Stiles ground up against him, making him whine and throw his head back. “Told you there was something wrong with that plant.”

 

Stiles didn’t answer him, just fit his mouth against Scott’s neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there as they rutted together. Honestly, though. How was Stiles supposed to know that the strangely colored buds on the tiny bromeliad he’d brought home weren’t normal? It had looked like the ones his mother had grown, budding like that as they died. None of _them_ had ever released sex pheromones. Really, how was this their _life_?!

 

The spore had hit them hard, and they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It had gotten hot and heavy _fast_. Clothes ripped off, mouths and hands were everywhere, and orgasms were a _literal_ burning need.

 

Scott had crushed the damned thing as they fell on each other. An hour later he called Derek, demanding he go see Deaton and find out what was happening. They needed it to stop and obviously what they were doing wasn’t enough. Stiles’ heart was beating like a jackrabbit, and he was fever hot. Scott wasn’t sure how much more Stiles could take.

 

Stiles caught Scotts lips in a bruising kiss, prying them open and sweeping his tongue deep inside. Scott moaned and opened wider as he shoved his hand down between them and grasped Stiles’ erection, jerking it roughly.

 

They’d both already come several times since they started, and it was starting to be a little painful. But the heat in their veins didn’t dissipate and neither did their need. Stiles was seriously starting to wonder if death by orgasm was a real thing.

 

Scott’s wail as Stiles sank his teeth into his flesh almost drowned out the sound of the door slamming shut. Stiles was coming for the he-didn’t-know-how-many-eth time when Derek burst through the bedroom door, bare chested and kicking his pants off. He climbed up next to them and watched as Scott finished bringing himself off.

 

“Did you --?” Stiles’ voice was husky and wrecked. Scott latched onto his nipple, and he moaned, turned on and overstimulated.

 

“You need something in you,” Derek answered brusquely. “It’s why I came home instead of calling.”

 

“Oh thank God!” Scott exclaimed in relief. Stiles echoed the sentiment. They had agreed long ago, at the very beginning of their relationship, that the only time penetration would happen between any of them was if all of them were present. It didn’t matter if it was just two of them doing it and the other watching. What mattered was that they were all three there.

 

Derek wasted no time, manhandling the other two into the positions he wanted them in -- Scott facing the headboard with his claws already sunk in the wood, Stiles behind him with his fingers dug into Scott’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. A probing touch confirmed what he’d been told to expect. Both of them were open and ready, thanks to the plant’s spore.

 

Scott whined and scrambled against the headboard when Stiles slid into him in one hard, sharp thrust, his hips starting to piston almost before he’d even bottomed out. Stiles threw his head back and wailed, then fell forward, licking and kissing along whatever of Scott’s back he could reach.

 

Derek lost focus as he watched them together. He never tired of the sight, and he let the sounds and smells wash over him, stroking at his own cock as he watched Stiles move in and out of Scott. He snapped out of it when Stiles moaned his name, pausing his thrusting long enough to reach for Derek’s cock and guide him where Stiles needed his most.

 

Derek gasped, latching onto Stiles’ neck as he slid all the way in. Derek followed Stiles’ lead, building a quick rhythm. Reaching around, he palmed Scott’s cock. His hand stroked in counterpoint, the smell of sweat and come and pheremones saturating the air, driving them on.

 

Stiles’ orgasm slammed into him when Scott reached back and raked human nails down his side and Derek dug human teeth into his neck. It was a domino effect after that as first Derek and then Scott followed him over the edge, heat flowing from them as they climaxed.

 

“No more plants,” Derek insisted as they collapsed in a tangle of come and sweat.

 

* * *

  

52.

 **Warnings:** Hurt/Comfort, Underage

 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Peter Hale

 **Chosen Trope:** Huddling for Warmth, De-aged, Wingfic (all werewolves have wings, thus Werewolves Are Known)

 

Peter’s wings as a teenager look differently than they do as an adult. As an adult, he kept the sooty gray wings tucked close to his body, trying to hide the bare patches where feathers were pulled out or never grew back. Now, with the way they’re spread, Chris can easily see that there are still bare patches, but the feathers are black and glossy, smooth where they push against his skin, not ruffled like the adult version.

 

Peter is shivering above him, teeth chattering. Chris isn’t doing much better even though he didn’t get dropped into a frozen lake. The bandages on his chest, looped around him to hold the gauze steady on his side, are damp from where Peter’s dripped on them.

 

Peter whimpers, and Chris finally pulls the teenager down with a hand on the back of his head, tucking Peter’s face against his neck. Both of them were hurt today, but while Chris is used to being injured, getting dropped a hundred feet into a frozen lake isn’t something Peter makes a habit of. The patchy state of his wings makes flight impossible; a beta from the rival pack thought it would be funny to carry him up that high only to drop him. Derek hadn’t been able to get to him before he smashed through the ice.

 

The wolves had managed to get Peter out of the water before too long, but hypothermia had already started to set in. They had hurried back to the Hales’ big log cabin, Chris stumbling up the steps after Derek and Peter, and stripped off all their wet and bloody clothing. Derek had to go back, so Chris and Peter took care of each other before retreating to their warm bed.

 

Peter’s still a bit wet, still dripping onto Chris, but the warmth between their bare chests is growing. Chris rubs down Peter’s back, soothing and warming him, avoiding the base of his wings at first before lightly touching. Peter moans and clings, tucking his wings closer around them. It darkens them, with the wings touching over Chris’s head, but it preserves the warmth too.

 

Chris rubs the base of Peter’s wings, feeling Peter’s moan in his chest and his cock hardening against his thigh. He’s glad to know the cold hasn’t affected Peter that badly.

 

“Chris,” he pleads, hands clenching against his sides.

 

“Roll your hips, sweetheart,” Chris murmurs, turning his head to nibble on Peter’s ear. Chris still knows all of Peter’s hotspots even though he’s been turned twenty years younger, and it’s satisfying to feel him shudder and move his hips.

 

“Good. Such a good boy for me,” Chris whispers encouragingly. Peter whimpers and gets his mouth on his neck. Chris slides one hand down to cup and squeeze Peter’s round ass. He starts fingering Peter’s rim at the same time he slides his fingers deep into his feathers and then gives a rough rub to the base of his wing. Peter arches and cries out as he comes, his wings snapping out to either side of the bed. Chris hums and watches his face until he collapses back down. Peter’s breath is hot against Chris’s neck and shoulder, and he’s warm inside when he slips his finger into Peter’s hole. Peter groans and shuffles his wings, pulling them back in towards them.

 

“Again, Chris?” he asks, his voice soft. Chris kisses his cheek.

 

“You’re a teenage werewolf. You can go again.” His own arousal is evident but not urgent, cradled in the line of Peter’s hip and wet from his come. He flexes his finger and Peter twitches.

 

“You’re insatiable,” he grumbles into Chris’s shoulder, and Chris chuckles.

 

“Give me a kiss, love, and grab the lube. We can take a bath later, after I warm you up from the inside out.” Peter hums, purrs, kisses him slowly, then straddles Chris’s hips and leans over to grab the bottle. The prep is quick before Chris pushes inside. Both of them moan and grab at each other. Chris’s injury keeps him from moving, but Peter gives himself a fast hard ride anyway, until he’s sweating, his wings making a sort of cocoon around them. Neither one is cold when they finish, and they lay together for a long time after.

 

“Next time,” Peter says sleepily, “You can fuck me in the shower where the water’s warm.”

 

“I’ll fuck you in the shower as much as you want as long as there isn’t a next time.”

 

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

53.

 **Warnings:** Dubcon but with verbal consent, car sex, future fic

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Deputy Parrish

 **Chosen Trope:** Sex pollen

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, and he’s fumbling at his fly even as his pain rushes to catch up with the burning itch under his skin. His hands are eight steps ahead of him; they barely got the back door of the police cruiser open and he’s already flinging himself backwards across the seat, shimmying his jeans down his hips as he goes. “ _What are you_? You are way too calm and collected about this to not be some kind of creature of the night.”

 

Deputy Parrish’s eyes are wide and green under the dome light as he stares back at Stiles. He looks freaked but on the ball; his shirt’s unbuttoned and his holster discarded on the front seat.

 

“I’ve been here too long to be surprised by much anymore,” he says, voice rough and oddly resigned for a guy who just got doused with an epic dose of weird aphrodisiac incubus shit. Stiles is new to this emissary gig. He’s still learning the proper names for stuff. “If you say we got hit by some kinda spell, I’m inclined to believe you’re not bullshitting me.”

 

Stiles can’t help but pause in the act of undressing himself further. “Really. You trust _me_ not to bullshit you.” Stiles lifts his eyebrows. “Have we met?”

 

Their eyes meet, and Parrish undoes his belt and plants one knee on the vinyl seat, right between Stiles’s legs. He shoves himself forward so that his thigh presses against Stiles’s crotch where the front of his boxers comically tented with his erection. Unable to stop himself, Stiles grinds himself down against his leg, whimpering.

 

They didn’t really talk about this beforehand, not beyond Stiles’s shaky and admittedly rushed rundown of their two options--namely, fuck or die--but he can’t help the squeak that escapes him when Parrish closes a hand around his cock through his boxers.

 

“You look about as awful as I feel right now,” Parrish tells him. “I don’t know how or why this happened, which I fully expect you to explain to me later in detail, but right now--no, I know you’re not just fucking with me.”

 

A large, unrepentant grin splits Stiles’s face. “I’m kind of about to be,” he says. “And if we survive the night, I promise to explain everything my dad thinks he’s doing you a favour by not telling you.”

 

Parrish nods and climbs the rest of the way inside the car, pulls the door all the way closed with his foot. Their faces are so close together that Stiles tries to lean up to kiss him, hungry for it, but Parrish jerks his chin away.

 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, stilling Stiles’s hands where they’ve managed to snake inside his uniform pants. “If you’re not, we’ll find another way.” He pauses. “Or just die, I guess.”

 

Stiles nods so vigorously that he almost cracks the back of his skull open on the handle of the opposite door. “Consider this my enthusiastic consent to engage in life-saving sex,” he says, which is not the most romantic thing he’s ever said, but Stiles isn’t too proud to admit he’s been ogling Parrish’s ass since the day he joined the Beacon Hills police force five years ago. “Sure you’re okay fucking your boss’s son?”

 

“Circumstances notwithstanding? Yeah. Your dad will just have to forgive me.”

 

As he says it, Kyle simultaneously manages to shove his pants and underwear down with one hand and get Stiles’s dick out with the other. He lowers his weight more fully onto Stiles, and they both gasp as their cocks come into contact, both of them hot and painfully hard. Fucking incubi.

 

Stiles doesn’t waste time getting a hand around them both, then pulls Kyle’s head down with his free hand so they can finally kiss. It’s inelegant and messy, but goddamn, it’s good. Even if it’s gonna be over embarrassingly fast.

 

Kyle is quick to get with the program, bracing his hands on either side of Stiles’s head and thrusting into his fist. The sounds he makes drive Stiles _thisclose_ to jizzing in fucking seconds. Jesus. Fucking--

 

“Just tell me we can do this again when we’re not out of our minds,” he breaks away to pant, hips driving up in counterpoint. “That’d be good. Awesome, even.”

 

In answer, Parrish leans down to bite his neck, and Stiles _does_ come at that, so hard he sees spots.

 

He thinks he can take that as a yes.

 

Fucking incubi, though.

 

* * *

 

 

54.

 **Warnings:** n/a

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Bed Sharing

 

 

“It’s only for a night,” is the first thing Stiles said when Derek let him in. Well, Derek didn’t exactly let him in — he just happened to open the door enough for Stiles to squeeze between Derek’s hard, unmoving body and the more forgiving soft wood of the old door frame. “My dad is working, Scott is at that Krav Maga weekend thing, and Lydia is in LA with her father for the weekend, so…”

 

 

“So… what? Why are you here?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised and arms folded over his chest. He pointedly looked at Stiles’ dripping form, his clothes completely soaked from the downpour, and down at the puddle forming at his feet. As if the worst the loft’s bare wooden floor had seen was a bit of rainwater, Stiles thought bitterly.

 

 

“If you laugh at me, I will —” Stiles started, but then was cut off by a crack of thunder so loud that the windows rattled and the floor shook. Conscious thought had absolutely no part in the step he took closer to Derek, eyes fixed on the massive windows as he quietly counted the seconds until the lightning flashed. He only realized how close he’d gotten to Derek when his flinch at the sudden brightness caused them to brush shoulders.

 

 

A hot spike of shame flushed through Stiles’ body as he took a step back. “It’s not what you think,” he muttered.

 

 

“I know,” Derek said, voice softer than Stiles was used to hearing. “You’ve never been afraid of storms. This is new.”

 

Grateful that he didn’t have to explain, Stiles ducked around Derek and toed his shoes off. “It’s just bad lately, and sometimes I need someone there to help keep me grounded.”

 

 

“Scott told me,” Derek said, finally closing the door behind them. “The nightmares thing.”

 

 

Stiles felt something loosen in his chest at the prospect of being able to stay. “‘Nightmare thing’ isn’t the best phrase for it, but we’ll go with that for now. Sounds better than ‘losing your mind thing’ or ‘insanity thing’ I suppose,” Stiles said with a shrug.

 

 

“Stiles —” Derek started, but Stiles cut him off.

 

 

“Just don’t, okay?” Stiles collapsed on the couch. “It’s not about you and me. You don’t owe me anything. We weren’t anything more than… anyway, it doesn’t matter. You tried to get out, and I totally understand.”

 

 

“Do you?” Derek asked, not looking at Stiles as he pulled a mug and a box of tea from the shelves.

 

 

“Believe it or not, I understand and even support the fact that your family is a higher priority than the company of some kid you were just messing around with on cold nights.” Much to his relief, the words didn’t come out bitter. It was true, gods help him. Derek didn’t owe him anything.

 

 

After a moment, Stiles became aware of a warm presence hovering over him. He cracked open his eyes to see Derek standing mere inches away, looking down at him with a frown.

 

 

“You’re awfully quiet.”

 

“Never thought I’d hear you complain about that,” Stiles snarked.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Derek corrected, but he didn’t smile. “You’re soaked and shivering.”

 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly leave my extra clothes here when you left, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to risk the water stain on the couch.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Derek huffed. He reached down, and before Stiles had a chance to squawk a protest, pulled his white t-shirt off over his head.

 

“Hey!” Stiles objected, wrapping his arms around his chest.

 

Then Derek’s hand was on him, thumb started rubbing circles in Stiles’ skin.

 

“You can’t just do that, Derek,” he breathed out even as he leaned into the touch.

 

“Do what? Touch you?”

 

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” Stiles bowed his head and shook it in exasperation. “When are you leaving again?”

 

Derek’s hand tightened on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m not planning to leave again, Stiles.”

 

Stiles scoffed. “ _Everyone_ leaves.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, exasperated. “You want to go to bed with me. I want you in bed with me. So come on. But wet clothes have to be off, first.”

 

Stiles gave Derek a suspicious look. “Just for warmth? And to keep the nightmares away?”

 

Derek nodded and took Stiles’ hand. “Just for warmth. And comfort.”

 

 _Comfort_. Lightning cracked again, and Stiles shivered and followed Derek deeper into the loft.

 

* * *

 

 

55.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek (femsterek)

 **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap (both Stiles  & Derek)

 

 

Stiles blinked awake in the early morning light, turning her head from the sun streaming in the window to focus on the still sleeping form beside her. Derek was curled up on her side, her back to Stiles, the t-shirt she was sleeping in rucked up high on her back. Stiles smiled to herself, watching Derek's body shift with each breath she took. The mornings that she woke up beside Derek were her favorite. And even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone else, she suspected that Derek knew.

 

 

Stiles reached out and pushed her fingertips over Derek's exposed skin, moving up along her spine, pushing the shirt up higher as she traced the bones. She watched as Derek shifted beneath her touch, the first sign of her waking up, followed by a sleepy yawn. "Good morning," Stiles murmured, shifting closer to Derek, letting her arm slide around her slender waist as she pressed a kiss just beneath the edge of her shirt.

 

 

"G'morning," Derek mumbled, stretching an arm over herself before relaxing back against Stiles. "Wha' time is it?"

 

 

"Still early," Stiles said, carefully avoiding the actual number, knowing Derek wouldn't be pleased being woken up quite so near to dawn.

 

 

Derek groaned but didn't say anything. She rested a hand overtop Stiles' and guided it to her exposed stomach and then up under the edge of her t-shirt, before leaving Stiles to her own deductions.

 

 

Stiles smiled and followed Derek's lead, her hand sliding further up beneath her top until her fingertips were pushing over stiffening nipples, palm cupping her breast, massaging gently like she knew Derek liked. The small, pleased sound that met her ears was enough to tell her she was right. "God, Derek," Stiles said, voice hushed, as her hand explored beneath Derek's shirt.

 

 

Derek made a humming sound in her throat before rolling onto her back, looking up at Stiles with a heavy gaze. Stiles glanced up into her face and smiled softly, loving that she got this part of Derek, that she alone could have this. Stiles pushed Derek's shirt further up her body, exposing her breasts to the cool morning air, she grinned up at Derek before ducking her head down to wrap her lips around a nipple, gently teasing the nub with her tongue. She pulled back slightly, blowing over the damp skin, watching her nipple stiffen even more.

 

 

Stiles leaned back up over Derek, moving to slot their legs together, pressing a thigh to Derek's center. She captured Derek's lips in a more insistent kiss, rocking her hips down, grinding her pussy against Derek's thigh, feeling Derek press up against hers. "Are you going to tell me what you'd like?" Stiles asked, breaking the kiss, lips still pushing over Derek's as she spoke.

 

 

Derek smiled faintly, meeting Stiles' gaze evenly. "You mean you don't know?" She asked, eyebrow raised.

 

 

"Oh, I do," Stiles said evenly, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

 

 

Derek's smile widened as she tilted her head up to whisper in Stiles' ear, "You know exactly what I want. I want your mouth on my pussy, your tongue on my clit. I want your long fingers pressing into me until I'm begging you to make me come. Do you think you can handle that?"

 

 

Stiles' eyes widened at the challenge, but she couldn't help but grin as she replied, "Can you?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

56.

 **Warnings:** none

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Magic Healing Cock

 

The silence that falls after the fae pops back out of the material plane is as heavy as a brick.

 

Scott is the first to speak. “Did she just… Was she being literal?”

 

Derek can practically hear Stiles grin behind him, but it’s Lydia who says, “Probably. Fairies are known for handing out unusual gifts.”

 

Derek doesn’t feel any different, save for the lingering tingle of magic in his body, centering around… well, there’s tingling.

 

After a few more awkward seconds, Stiles clears his throat. “Obviously we should test it—”

 

“ _No_!”

 

That may be the first time everyone’s agreed on something at once.

 

Back at the loft, Stiles is the last to leave. That’s hardly unusual, but he hasn’t been able to wipe that stupid smirk off his face all day.

 

“Derek.”

 

No. He will not engage.

 

“Deeeeerek, I have a paaaaaaper cut.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Well, it’s more like a nasty hangnail. And it hurts. Like, a lot.”

 

The moment Derek turns to face Stiles – who’s sucking the tip of one finger into his mouth – he knows he’s already lost.

 

“C’mon, big guy,” Stiles says, his eyes sparkling when Derek pins him to the bed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

It’s pretty easy to keep Stiles’ mouth occupied after that.

 

\---

 

Not a week later, Derek gets a phone call.

 

“Derek, hey! Could you – _ow, dammit_ – come on over to— _Put that down! It’s, like, 3,000 years old_!”

 

Derek sighs. “Be there in ten.”

 

Turns out Stiles’ new apartment is infested with gnomes. Their gnarled little fists are like solid oak, and if Derek isn’t going to admit that three of them ganged up and knocked the wind out of him, neither is Stiles going to seek actual medical attention for his black eye and bruised ribs.

 

“ _Gnomes_ , Derek. I’m not even telling Scott.”

 

Stiles has a point. He also has a series of nasty puises starting to form across his torso.

 

His naked torso.

 

“Stiles, what are you—”

 

“Pants off. You know what you gotta do.”

 

Derek growls. “I don’t actually have a…” He can’t even say it. He just can’t.

 

Stiles grins. “Only one way to find out.”

 

Derek’s not quite sure of the sequence of events that lands them both naked in Stiles’ bed, and by the time Stiles is thrusting three long, nimble fingers into himself, Derek can’t remember whether it’s day or night outside.

 

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “Give it to me _right fucking now_.”

 

Despite Stiles’ eagerness, Derek goes slowly; he can still smell a hint of pain. He holds Stiles down, trying to keep him from further hurting himself, but it only makes Stiles push back harder.

 

Derek is trying so hard to control himself that he barely notices when he bottoms out. Stiles, however, gasps and twitches like he’s been shocked. Before Derek can even respond, Stiles wraps a leg around his waist.

 

When Derek thrusts, Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” he mutters as he starts to writhe. “I can feel it everywhere, _oh my god_.”

 

Stiles’ black eye is already starting to fade, and even though Derek doesn’t feel what Stiles seems to feel, he would swear they’re more connected than they’ve ever been. He mentally gathers up the swelling feeling in his chest that Stiles always puts there and _pushes_ , like he can give it all back just by thinking about it.

 

Stiles yelps and goes completely still, and Derek’s terrified for a split second before he realizes Stiles is coming, spurting all over his chest without a hand on his cock, and just the sight of it shocks Derek into orgasm, too.

 

It’s not until he hears indignant sputtering that he realizes he’s collapsed on top of Stiles. He quickly rolls off, worried again that he’s hurt Stiles, but Stiles is just muttering, “…going to do that, you’d better be ready for round two…”

 

Derek catches his breath as Stiles rambles away, burning off the extra energy, and Derek makes a note to hold back a little next time. It seems like he’s actually got—

 

“A magical healing cock, what the fuck,” Stiles exclaims with a laugh. Derek can’t see a single bruise on his body, and he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. “You could open a clinic. Dr. Derek’s Divine Dick cures what ails you.”

 

Derek’s too tired to do anything but throw an arm over Stiles. “Really?”

 

He feels Stiles’ grin against the side of his neck. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

* * *

 

 

57. 

 **Warnings:** dirty talk, voyeurism

 **Pairing:** Melissa/Sheriff

 **Chosen Trope:** bodyswap, de-age, general age fuckery

 

 

"No, but like," Melissa says, flips her hair and pops her bubble gum, "I think it's almost--Oh my God! Why is it so hard to behave like an adult when you're in a teenage body?"

 

 

Stiles--John--John in Stiles' body--nudges her on the shoulder, and says, "It's not that different. You're a pretty hip lady."

 

 

The voice that comes out isn't John's voice, and his smile looks wrong on Stiles' face. Stiles's face is always in extremes, rubber banding from one expression to the other. John's emotions are soft, steady, calm: looking down with a sigh, gritting his teeth in anger, little smiles where his mouth just lifts up at the corner.

 

 

"My hips are twice as wide when I'm a lady," she says, and gets up to inspect herself in the mirror.

 

 

"Your hips are perfect."

 

 

Melissa grins back at him. "I like 'em. Though maybe not as much as I did these babies in a pair of skin tight acid washed jeans."

 

 

Stiles-John bends his head down and kneads the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I tried to tuck Stiles' shirt in this morning. I think I flunked his math test."

 

 

"How's he doing as you?" Melissa throws herself down on John's bed on her stomach, and props her head up on her hands.

 

 

Stiles-John shrugs. "I don't know. He's down at the Sheriff station. I told him to call in sick, but honestly, with that kid? I'm not sure he can't do my job better than I do."

 

 

"He's a bright kid," Melissa says, and pops her gum again.

 

 

"How's Scott?"

 

 

"Scott? About forty-five, visibly greying, and with a full handlebar moustache? That Scott?"

 

 

Stiles-John leans back on Stiles' bony elbows. "Yeah, that Scott."

 

 

Melissa rolls over to look at the ceiling, uses her hands as a pillow for her head. "Fine, I think. He likes the moustache."

 

 

"He looks like a 70s porn star."

 

 

Melissa grins up at him. "I suppose you'd know, being in the body of a teenager and all."

 

 

Stiles-John rubs his hand over his face. "Ugh, no. Never. Not in Stiles' body."

 

 

"I know. It's such a shame. I can't be with anyone in this state. I can't deal with anyone my age who would sleep with a 16 year old, and I don't care how old my body is, I'm certainly not going to go out and find anyone younger." She rolls over onto her stomach again. "Too bad you didn't turn into a teenager like I did."

 

 

Stiles-John's voice comes out in a little horse. "Yeah." He coughs, then waits a beat. "I know they said it'd wear off, but, um, when we get back to ourselves, I'd really like to take you out and get to know you better."

 

 

"You already know me," Melissa says--almost whispers.

 

 

"I'd kiss you right now if I wasn't in Stiles' body," Stiles-John's voice is weirdly low, too.

 

 

"I want you to kiss me," Melissa says, and puts a finger to her lip, "here," to her neck, "here," and a spot just beneath the collar of her t-shirt, where it's too big and hanging down, "here."

 

 

"I would, if you wanted." He let's Stiles' hand hover over Melissa's belly button, "here, too," then her hip, "and here," and the zipper of her jeans, "and here."

 

 

"My, Sheriff," Melissa says, twisting around to get comfortable. "On the first date?"

 

 

"We've been going to lacrosse games for decades. Those can be dates."

 

 

"All right," Melissa grins, "you want to watch, then?"

 

 

"Watch?"

 

 

"You can't use Stiles' body. I still have mine." She pulls her shirt over head, and goes for the button on her jeans. "Tell me what you'd do to me."

 

 

"I'd, um," Sheriff-John says, "first, I would--"

 

 

"DAAAAD!" John's voice yells up the stairs. "I'm home! Come help me with dinner!"

 

 

Stiles-John makes a pained face. "He's always had the worst timing."

 

 

Melissa buttons her jeans again, and pulls on her shirt. "It's probably for the best," she says, and pats Stiles-John on the cheek. "The last thing I want to come to mind when I remember our first time together is Stiles coming in his pants."

 

 

"Yeah," Stiles-John says, and hangs his head a little. "It's probably for the best. Um, I'll see you?"

 

 

"As soon as everything's back to normal, call me. We'll start back from here."

 

* * *

 

58.

 **Warnings:** Drunken sex

 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Peter Hale

 **Chosen Trope:** Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn

 

Even though it’s near impossible for a werewolf to get drunk, Peter is going to do his damnedest to succeed tonight. Tomorrow, he’s getting married, which should be a joyous occasion. It’s not. He’s never met the man he’s going to spend the rest of his life with, fuck, he doesn’t even know his _name_ beyond _Argent._

 

Trust his sister, _the Alpha,_ make decisions for the good of the pack and fuck Peter over in the process. It’s only logical, he’s young and not going to pose a threat by breeding mongrels to challenge Argent’s heir while warming the bed of the widower scion to cement ties. If the old coot could even get it up.

 

There’s still wolfsbane clinging to his lips from when he’d chewed the flowers earlier, the scent tickling his nose when he knocks back another shot of Gray Goose. He swiped one of Talia’s cards, for this one last hurrah before he’s doomed to spend the rest of his life in a not-so-gilded cage.

 

He’s deep in his misery but not so deep that he doesn’t notice the man who’s taken over the stool next to his. There’s a hint of gunpowder in the sweaty musk that’s tantalizing to his wolf senses, and a set of broad shoulders under a battered leather jacket.

 

He must’ve made a noise because the man turns around, away from the whiskey in front of him – the memory of a gruff _leave the bottle_ flits through Peter’s mind – and their eyes meet, blue on blue.

 

The guy’s handsome face is delivers on the promise his shoulders made. He’s that much older than Peter but not _old_ , not like the man he’s about to wed in the morning. Peter can’t help a slow grin spreading on his face as he leans forward on his stool, towards the man whose expression is flitting from curiously alert to _interest._

 

Fifteen minutes and a few more shots later he’s pressed against the alley wall as the man – _Chris_ – bites on his neck. The calloused hand rubbing Peter through his jeans has him fighting to not to beg, to not to bare his throat any further. Brick scrapes though the thin fabric of his shirt and he can smell blood, the broken skin healing almost instantly as his hands grip Chris’s broad shoulders, human nails digging into the leather.

 

He’s so hard it hurts when Chris moves to flip them around, surprisingly strong for a human. He doesn’t resist when a heavy hand on his neck guides him down, on his knees on the wet pavement and just licks his lips eagerly, tasting the mixed whiskey and vodka and Chris’s cinnamon toothpaste.

 

Scent of wolfsbane still clings to his nose as he rubs his face on Chris’s jeans, mouthing at the hard line of the man’s cock through the rough fabric. An inpatient tug on his hair, hard enough to be painful draws a deep moan from him as he lifts his hands to undo the fly.

 

Peter inhales deeply at the musky scent, nuzzling his face against the still-trapped balls before another tug has his head positioned just right for Chris’s hard cock to slide between his reddened lips.

 

Peter moans, eyes fluttering shut as he grips Chris’s thighs, letting the man fuck into his mouth with short, sharp thrusts. He’s drunk and sloppy, gagging and drooling but he doesn’t care, heat gathering at the pit of his belly. He’s gonna come from this, from the weight of the cock on his tongue, the taste of bitter precome mingling with the booze and filling him with a haze of lust.

 

He tries to reach down to take himself in hand but Chris is lightning-fast, grabbing his wrist and pinning it down, the hand in his hair tightening to pull Peter off his dick.

 

Peter blinks and looks up, breath coming in short pants through his still wide open mouth. It’s driven out of him when he’s pulled up and pushed into the wall, face-first, rough bricks blessedly cold against his face.

 

When Chris’s spit-slicked cock starts to slowly press into him, his last coherent thought is how much he is going miss this.

 

**

 

Werewolves are not immune to hangovers. The morning sunlight stabs at Peter’s eyes, and his head throbs with every step he takes.

 

When he sees his future husband he blinks and thinks, he must still be asleep. Because it can’t be –

 

“Peter,” Talia’s voice is firm. “Meet Christopher Argent.”

 

* * *

 

 

59.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** AU – Fantasy, Fusion( Dragonriders of Pern), Sex Compulsion

 

 

 

He had known it was coming. Could feel it building up for the past couple of weeks and the rest of the Weyr had sensed it as well. Still, Stiles hadn’t expected it to hit that night. The heat that settled low in his belly, one that echoed from Ameria to him as she prepared to take Flight.

 

 

 _You’re sure it’s time._ He asked her through the connection between them, hands fumbling as he laced his trousers and threw on a shirt. He didn’t bother with a vest, absently strapping a knife to belt in case he needed it.

 

 

 _No, I think I’m just imagining it._ Sarcasm leaked through the bond, laced through her words. He didn’t mention how tired they were. How even knowing it was coming didn’t mean that could avoid going out when Threadfall was falling to help battle it with the rest of the riders.

 

 

His arms still ached from the weight of the flamethrower and he worried she wouldn’t be able to bray fast enough, he worried because he could feel her worry. She wasn’t about to be caught in Flight by someone undeserving just because she was tired.

 

 

 _It will be okay,_ he reassured her entering the hall and meeting Scott’s eyes _you got this_. He didn’t have to fake being confidant. He had faith in the Gold dragon that had Impressed on him all those years ago. It didn’t matter how tired they were, that this was her first Flight, she would make them work for it.

 

 

“The bronze's have already started to gather.” Scott looked on edge as he came to stand by his side. Stiles looked to where the other riders where already watching the air avidly. He knew most of them, had trained beside them with the knowledge that one day this would happen. It didn’t stop him from grimacing when Jackson glanced his way long enough to smirk confidently.

 

 

“God he’s been bragging hasn’t he?” Stiles muttered to Scott falling in to step with him as they approached the group, moving to where Allison and Lydia stood instead. Lydia moved to his side and Stiles was relieved to see she didn’t seem upset with him. Hers was the only other Gold and they both knew whatever one took flight first would determine which rider would be the next Weyrleader.

 

 

Scott winced, “He seems really confident.”

 

 

“Well he shouldn’t be.” Lydia gave Stiles an appraising look informing him “Did you know the Hale’s arrived last night?”

 

 

Stiles breath caught, stunned “Derek’s here?” He felt Ameria’s interest curve towards him, the heat narrowing to a focus. Stiles tore his gaze from her to where a new group of riders were entering the room to watch the Flight. Derek was at the lead, his eyes locked on Stiles and for the first time in weeks Stiles felt like he could breathe again.

 

 

He could feel his dragon’s determination and sent encouragement her way.

 

 

Before their best chances for Ameria’s first flight had been Allison’s bronze, maybe even Scott’s Blue if he could hold out. Derek had left months ago, sent away because the current Weyrleader had never liked the Hale’s and hadn’t even wanted them to be included at any Hatchling's despite the fact their family had been Impressing on dragons for generations.

 

 

Stiles hadn’t dared to hope he would make it in time, it hadn’t stopped him from sending a letter the moment he’d felt the change in Ameria.

 

 

Stiles felt the beat of her wings as she rose in the air and heard the roar of the dragons as they gave chase to follow. Derek’s lips curved into a grin when their eyes meet.

 

+++

 

 

Wolf’s wings curled around Ameria when he caught her and Derek was already pressing Stiles against the wall, hands framing his face and to hold him in place as the passion from their dragons mating surged through them.

 

 

Stiles could Ameria’s delight at being with Wolf again match his own at seeing Derek and he laughed against Derek’s lips, tugging him to the door so they could seek out Stiles chambers.

 

 

He lost time, Ameria tied so closely to him that the next time he opened his eyes he was spread out across his bed and Derek was inside him.

 

 

“Stiles,” Derek held his hand gripped above his head as he thrust into him. “Almost didn’t make it in time.” He groaned biting at Stiles neck.

 

 

Stiles tightened his legs around him, pulling him in closer “You did, I’m glad you did.” And let passion overtake him.

 

* * *

 

60.

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Warning:** None Chosen

 **Trope:** Coffee Shop AU

 

At 27, Derek is older than most of the baristas at Holy Grounds, but he loves the ritual of pulling a shot, loves the rich smell of coffee, the sound of rain pouring down the picture windows. Besides, Peter never cares if Derek snatches a few moments during the quiet hours to work on his thesis. That’s what he’s doing when the door swings open with a jingle of bells and a scent as fresh and familiar as running through the Nature Preserve as a child, laughing with his sisters and cousins. Derek’s eyes flutter shut of their own volition. He breathes in deeply, trying to draw in as much of the scent as possible.

 

When he finally forces himself to look up and say, “What can I get for you?” Derek finds a college boy standing on the other side of the counter, staring like he’s seen a ghost.

 

“Derek?” he chokes.

 

“Have we met?” Derek asks. He doesn’t think so. He’d remember that scent, remember the scattering of moles by that expressive mouth.

 

“We thought you were dead!” the boy chokes. To Derek’s alarm, tears are rising rapidly in his warm brown eyes. The wolf in Derek wants to reach out to him, to touch his shoulder, ease the scent of misery rolling off him. The human makes him take a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, “Who are you?”

 

The boy’s jaw drops open, anger and affront warring in his expression. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

 

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

The boy steps right up to the counter, leaning over it to jab a finger into Derek’s chest. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but when I find out, I’m going to kick your werewolf ass!”

 

Derek grabs the boy’s wrist, even as he instinctively double-checks that nobody heard them. “I don’t know how you know that,” he growled, “but if you say another word . . .” he squeezes the fragile bones in his hand, hard enough to hurt.

 

The boy flinches, but Derek gets the feeling it’s not from his grip. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” the boy asks.

 

“No,” he says, feeling almost guilty for the droop in the boy’s shoulders. “But you know me?”

 

“Yes,” the boy says. He’s not lying.

 

Derek glances around the coffee shop -- quiet, but still too full for any conversation involving werewolves. “I get off at 10,” he says. “We’ll talk then.”

 

* * *

 

His name is Stiles. He’s from Beacon Hills.

 

 

“I can’t believe you recognized me!” Derek marvels. “I was only sixteen when I left!”

 

 

“Sixteen?” Stiles asks, a strangled note to his voice.

 

 

Derek smiles ruefully. “Most of my family died in a fire when I was just a kid. My uncle, Peter, adopted me and my sister. We moved to Seattle then.”

 

 

At Peter’s name, the boy’s scent goes sour. He glares down into the macchiato Derek made him, fingers tapping restlessly against the rim of the cup.

 

 

Derek catches the hand. “Why do you remember me?” he asks.

 

 

Fear and hesitation spark through Stiles’s scent. He licks his lips. “I had the biggest crush on you in Beacon Hills,” he admits. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. Derek wants to press it, but Stiles’s scent is distracting him. The hand he’s captured has turned in his, twining their fingers together. Derek leans close, catches his lips in a kiss.

 

 

He’s expecting Stiles to kiss back. He’s not expecting him to throw himself into it, to clamber into Derek’s lap and run frantic hands up under his shirt. They fall back onto the sofa, shucking clothing aside.

 

 

“I missed you,” Stiles groans, when Derek takes him in hand. “I missed you so much!”

 

 

Afterwards, they lie together, Stiles draped over Derek, resting his head on his chest. Derek is playing with his fingers, humming quietly. He feels safe in Stiles’s company, in a way he’s rarely felt since the fire.

 

 

Stiles swallows, squeezes Derek’s hand. “If you’d lost a memory,” he said hesitantly. “Something important, would you want it back? Even if it hurt?”

 

 

Derek shrugs, drawing his nose through Stiles’s hair. “I guess.”

 

 

Stiles smiles shakily, lifts himself up onto one elbow. “Your uncle’s an Alpha?”

 

 

“How did you know that?” Derek asks, and Stiles touches a finger to his lips.

 

“He changed your memories, Derek,” he says.

 

Derek wants to protest, but Stiles’s heart is steady, his eyes deadly serious. “Tell me,” Derek says.

 

And Stiles does.

 


	4. Group D (With Pairings & Warnings)

61.

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 **Chosen Trope:** Cop/Detective AU (Deputy!Derek)

* * *

62.

 **Warnings:** NSFW

 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Barista AU

* * *

63.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** Prison AU

 **Notes:** In prison, they say 'don't drop the soap', but that isn't a problem for inmates Hale and Stilinski.

* * *

64.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Pairing:** Scott/Kira

 **Chosen Trope:** Roadtrip

* * *

65.

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: sterek

Chosen Trope: wedding

* * *

**66.**

Warnings: Blood

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

**Chosen Trope: Regency AU! with a dash of zombies/apocalypse**

* * *

**67.**

Warnings:

 ****N/A

 **Pairing:** Stiles, solo

 **Chosen Trope:** Porn Stars

* * *

**68.**

Warnings: N/A

 **Pairing:** derek/stiles

 **Chosen Trope:** fuck or die: tentacles made them do it


	5. Group A (Clean)

1.

 **Chosen Trope:** Bodysharing ****

The hows and whys didn't so much matter about why Derek's consciousness was sharing Stiles' body.

All Stiles knew was that he was in there rattling around like a tiny pingpong sized werewolf version of himself, dodging the giant landmines of brainwaves Stiles kept having.

 _"Jesus, do you **ever** shut up? I mean, seriously. Do you **ever** shut up?"_ Derek thought inside Stiles' mind.

"It's not much fun for me, either, buddy. I've just had longer to get used to it," Stiles muttered aloud, unable to get the hang of _thinking_ back at Derek.

Stiles felt Derek sign and there was a distinctive shuffle, like he was trying to get comfortable within Stiles. Derek didn't vocalize it at him but Stiles could feel that Derek was used to sleeping on his right side so without a word he flipped over and closed his eyes.

 _"Thanks,"_ was the brief reply. Stiles nodded in response and fell asleep.

***

"Well this is awkward," Stiles mumbled to himself in the shower. He had a hand wrapped around his cock, trying to figure out the best way to get rid of his morning hardon with an audience.

 _"Don't look at it,"_ Derek suggested and yeah, that was a _really helpful suggestion, Derek_.

"Just because someone's got their back to you in the bathroom doesn't mean you don't get bladder shy," Stiles argued. He felt Derek shrug in his head.

_"I don't."_

"You wouldn't," Stiles grumbled. The normal "morning rush" died down enough for Stiles to finish getting ready and pointedly ignore his now-semi.

He'd deal.

***

 _"Are you perpetually horny?"_ Derek asked during lunch while Stiles was trying to calm himself in the bathroom at school.

"Hmmm, I'm seventeen. Let me think--YES! Don't you reme-" A simple flash of a fiery memory that slipped away from Derek was all it took for him to shut up.

Also did wonders for his erection.

***

A fucked up lacrosse practice and dinner with his father later, Stiles was sprawled across his bed, keyed up with pent up energy. He couldn't concentrate on homework and his usual go-tos to solve the problem would _not_ help now.

 _"You're driving me crazy,"_ Derek spoke up. _"I feel everything you do, you know. Just man up and deal with it."_

Stiles shot straight up in bed. " _Deal_ with it?" he basically squeaked. "How would you suggest that?"

 _"You know exactly how, Stiles,"_ Derek's voice dropped in his mind and Stiles could feel himself respond instantly. He was off his bed in a second, shaking his head.

"Noooo, no, no, no," Stiles replied. Derek assaulted with a barrage of images he must have collected over the years of men and women both, shots from porn, his own experiences... then a memory of Derek himself. Naked and sweaty, post-run Stiles could feel, and Derek stared at himself in a mirror, cock hard between his legs before he gripped it with one hand and started to slowly tug.

Stiles felt his own dick throb in his pants. He pushed his pants down and dropped to the floor as he cupped his own balls.

 _"This is when I first came back. Just got back from finding a couple trespassers on my land,"_ Derek explained. Then there was another image of Derek staring down at himself while sprawled on the old couch in the train car. _"This was after you held me up in the pool."_

Stiles bit back a moan but he could feel Derek return it in his mind. Stiles never felt so much sensory overload before just from touching himself. Derek was projecting the memories on him and he could feel how Derek responded to his own touch, how he looked and even the taste when Derek would suck his own cum off his fingers.

"Nngghhhh," Stiles grunted out as his hand moved over his cock. It only took a couple good tugs before he was coming over himself, finally a release for a long day.

 _"I have a lot more of those you can use,"_ Derek's voice sounded like a purr in Stiles' head as he felt the aftershocks of Stiles' orgasm.

"Fuck that," Stiles gasped. "We're going to find the creature that took your body, get you back in it and then you can give me my own memories."

 _"Now that's motivation if I ever heard any,"_ Derek laughed and Stiles couldn't wait until he could see that for himself.

 

* * *

 

 

2.

 **Chosen Trope:** Mpreg (with a hell of a twist)

#### Oviparity

There was a dead mechanic in the next room when it happened. Stiles cried himself to sleep that night, one hand pressed to his swollen belly.

Derek came to Stiles after the pool, after he felt the swell of Stiles' stomach through his clothes and heard the beat of a dozen tiny hearts inside him.

"They're not just made," Derek told him. "Kanima are born, too."

Stiles had a panic attack, right there on his bed with Derek in the room and a belly full of rapidly developing eggs.

* * *

It starts half-way through the summer, wakes Stiles from fitful dreams of Jackson grunting against the back of his neck.

Shivers burn through him as his body tightens and eggs shift against one another. He runs his fingers over his stomach, feeling each hard, defined shape, and he whispers into the darkness.

"It's time."

It's been coming since the shells started to harden. An instinct drives him to find safety. Stiles twists his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt as another contraction rolls through him.

He gasps into Derek's throat, clings to his shoulders as the first egg starts to descend. Adrenaline courses through his veins and he shakes with the effort it takes to _not push_.

"You're okay," Derek says, his hands warm on Stiles' bare skin. "I've got you."

Stiles nods and moans as an unexpected ripple of pleasure flows through him. When the contraction fades the egg presses against his prostate, stretches him open. He gasps, rocks his hips.

"Easy," Derek whispers, hands sliding down to hold Stiles' still. "There's no pain?"

Stiles shakes his head and groans as his body tightens again. There's a tingling burn as his rim stretches wide, and his cock jerks and leaks pre-come. The egg slips free of his body and falls into the nest of blankets beneath.

"I want to come," Stiles begs, can't bring himself to care that their relationship isn't like that, and Derek's only here because no one else knows.

"You've gotta wait," Derek says. "Let your body do what it needs to do."

"It needs to _come_." Stiles gasps as his body starts to work again, and he feels another egg make its way down.

As it stills within him, pressure against his prostate as if by design, he feels his orgasm building. Derek's fingers circle his sensitive rim, ready to catch the egg as it emerges. Stiles rocks his hips into the next wave. "Fuck...oh...oh fuck." He comes hard as Derek guides the egg out.

Eggs continue to leave his body. When he comes Derek wipes him clean and strokes his face. Stiles loses count, drifts in a place that is sensation alone, unending waves of pleasure that ebb and flow, and Derek's constant, reassuring presence.

"This is the last one," Derek says.

Stiles lifts his head. Sweat runs into his eyes and he rubs his face against Derek's cheek. The rough scratch of stubble grounds him. "It's _coming_ ," he groans, as tiny, rolling spasms inside him work it though his body.

Again, everything stops with it pressing against his prostate. He moans and clings to Derek's chest, rocks his hips in Derek's firm grip.

Derek slips a hand between Stiles' cheeks and rubs his fingers through the slick fluid that's been coming out with the eggs. "This is it. It's almost over."

Stiles nods and breathes against Derek's throat, inhales his scent and moans as the final egg leaves his body.

Derek drags him up the bed, away from the clutch of fist-sized kanima eggs.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks.

Stiles nods, still panting. He looks at the nest, tries to reconcile the strange urge he has to protect them with the way it started. With the kanima—with Jackson, though he never found out what he'd done to Stiles before he left for London.

Derek follows his gaze. He must read something in it. "Are you going to try and stop me?"

Stiles shakes his head. "The last thing we need in this town is a swarm of tiny monsters." He closes his eyes. "Do it."

* * *

Derek returns smelling faintly of fire and burnt eggshell. He climbs back onto the bed and curls around Stiles. "It's over," he whispers, and follows it with a brush of his lips over Stiles' mouth.

Stiles never knew a kiss could be both chaste and passionate at the same time. He sighs into it, then breathes a barely audible, "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

 

3.

 **Chosen Trope: Arranged Marriage, Royalty AU** ****

Scott turned him around, gave him a once over and smiled. “You look amazing Stiles, this guy doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

Stiles just looked at his best friend with misty eyes and tried not to cry.

Scott’s smile faltered. “Hey, hey.” He hugged Stiles tightly. “You’re doing the right thing, buddy.”

Stiles gripped him tight and tried to breathe.

“Am I?” He croaked out.

________________

As Stiles waited for his betrothed at the altar he couldn’t help but think of Isaac. Isaac, whose eyes were an impossible combination of blue, green and gold and insisted on wearing a leather coat despite the warm weather.

He smiled at the memory of telling his father his shirt was irritating his skin to explain all the stubble burn on his neck and chest. Isaac almost spit out his drink when Stiles had told him. The way Isaac’s eyes crinkled when he smiled had made Stiles’ stomach flip every time.

Stiles thought about how it felt when Isaac would pick him up and pin him against a wall, kissing him until he couldn’t breathe, rutting against him until they both found release.

Isaac broke it off with him four days ago. He had looked just as heartbroken as Stiles felt when he said, “I just _can’t_ be with you.”

Stiles never asked why and didn’t fight him on it. In fact, Stiles had been thinking of how to tell the love of his life that he was engaged to someone else. That he wasn’t who he said he was. Isaac thought his name was Scott and that he _worked_ in the castle not _lived_ in it.

For two amazing months Stiles lived the life he wanted, one free from all the responsibilities of the Royal Family and in love with the man of his dreams.

Stiles shook his head and tried to focus on the present.

He stood in front of his father, dressed and ready to perform his duty as the Prince of his Kingdom.

“Here he comes.” His father whispered.

Stiles couldn’t look, he felt nauseous and anxious. He tried to shake off the memories of witty, sarcastic comments, broody eyebrows, and intense stares.

Suddenly, there was a presence next to him and the Hale family matriarch, Talia Hale, stood next to his father for the proceedings.

Stiles’ father cleared his throat. “Please face each other.”

Stiles took a deep breath and turned to his left and felt the air being kicked out of him. Judging by the shocked look on his face, Isaac felt the same.

“We are gathered here today for the union of my son, Stiles Stilinski.” His father stated.

“To my son, Derek Hale.” Talia finished.

Their parents continued with the ceremony but Stiles and _Derek_ just stared at each other. _Derek Hale is Isaac? How? What?_

His father clearing his throat brought Stiles out of his daze. His father mouthed _vows_.

“Right, vows, yes.” There were scattered sounds of laughter and Stiles took Derek’s hand in between both of his and spoke the words he never thought he’d be able to tell him.

He promised his body, heart and soul to the Hale Prince and swore his eternal love and loyalty to him and only him. He could feel Derek’s hand trembling with every word he spoke. Stiles ended his vows with a promise of honesty and when he was done Derek looked like he was having trouble believing what was happening. Stiles felt the same.

When it was Derek’s turn he only said, “I remember I once told you I did not believe in soul mates. I will never forget your reaction. You were hurt that I did not think we were. But as time went by, your love made me believe and now I have no doubt.” His voice broke at the end and Stiles wasn’t sure his chest could take it.

The King ended the ceremony with promise of a strong union and peace throughout both their lands.

They sealed that promise with a kiss.

Derek’s mouth was hot and soft, dragging over Stiles’ lips again and again until Stiles made a broken noise and let his mouth fall open. He missed this, he missed _him_. His body pressed forward and Derek’s arms slid up his back, pulling him closer.

The sound of his fathers cough reminded Stiles of where they were and he broke apart from Derek, breathing heavily and smiling.

Stiles couldn’t wait to consummate this marriage.

 

* * *

 

4.

 **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap, f!Stiles ****

She drives him home that night. "That's twice for you now," she says, still smelling of hurt in a way that makes his breathing hitch. "It seriously fucked Erica over and we're not taking any chances."

He's tired, but makes into the jeep under his own power. The way she clucks her tongue and all but crawls over him to do up his seatbelt reminds him of Laura, but there's nothing brotherly about the way his body reacts when her breasts brush against him.

The jeep hesitates but she croons to it and the engine rewards her by turning over. "Atta girl," she says, giving the dash a pat. "Positive reinforcement," she explains to Derek, the cheer in her voice forced, but appreciated nonetheless. "Try it some time."

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think Isaac would like that."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she hums, but then they're driving and he's tired.

The jeep's silent, cold, when he wakes up. Stiles is sitting beside him, the bruises on her face darker with the shadows, and Derek thinks that it's been a while. He starts to say something, there's a faint scent of salt in the air, the moonlight catching the tracks on her cheeks, but Stiles shakes her head and smiles bright. "You looked like you needed it." Her gaze goes to the building behind him, her nose wrinkling as she adds, "You also need a new place, dude. This won't cut it as a batcave."

"Batcave?"

"Yeah, batcave," Stiles nods. "You thought you were looking for Boyd and Erica by yourself?"

He did. She doesn't give him a chance to argue, driving off with a breezy, "See you in the morning!" trailing behind her.

"If I'd known then what I know now---" Peter says from behind him.

"You'd be dead," Derek growls. "She'd've killed you the first chance she got."

"I know," Peter's response is a happy sigh, "That's what I mean."

He's an idiot, clearly, and not worth killing.

Again.

*

It's mid-afternoon when Stiles walks in. Her bruises are worse in daylight, stark against her face, but it's the expression that really makes Derek move. Asking, "What's wrong?" before he reaches her and realizes she's shaking.

"Did he ask you?"

He knows, then, what she means. He shakes his head. Silent.

Stiles swears, low and furious, and Laura would've loved her. She's angry for him, like no one's been since Laura died, and if Derek hadn't already loved her, he knows he'd love her for this.

"He fucked up. Big."

*

That's the last she says of it, but her fury sits warm in his heart. It's probably fucked up too, but Derek doesn't care.

*

They spend time at the house. Stiles in shorts and Derek can't help staring. She catches him and smirks, but says nothing. "We need wifi. Also power, possibly some walls and a roof?"

"You think I should rebuild?"

"Uh, duh? Pack needs a house, dude, not a hovel." She frowns at her phone. "Cell signal too. It sucks ass out here."

He starts making a list.

*

She tastes the lemonade she's drinking. Derek groans, chasing it with his tongue, and Stiles squirms closer. Her ass grinds down as she does and he sees stars. She does it again and he pushes up into her, hands grabbing on and holding tight. Her shorts are worn thin and he feels them give in his grip.

"Buying me new ones, asshole," she mumbles into his mouth.

He'd buy her anything. Everything.

Her shirt's no better, soaking when he puts mouth to breast, sucking through the fabric. Stiles swears and grabs his head. Derek takes the moment and works fingers between her thighs. She's wet when he strokes her and makes a noise that _guts him_.

*

They fuck every chance they get. If they're not searching, then they're fucking. Derek spends hours eating her out, licking her cunt until she's hoarse, then lying back and watching her ride him.

She's drenched in his scent, Peter smirking constantly, but Scott never shows and Stiles never mentions him.

*

"You should tell him," he tries, once.

Stiles responds by blowing him so hard he cracks his head against the wall. He's still seeing stars when he kisses her, pressing her to the floor.

She bites at his mouth and hooks a leg over his hip.

"When I'm ready."

Maybe it's selfish, but it's her choice anyway.

*

And she chose him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

5.

 **C** **hosen Trope:** Aliens made them do it + Sex Pollen

Stiles covers his eyes, whispering, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home." Clicks his red sneakers three times and opens his eyes.

Nope.

Still stuck inside the alien space ship.

_Fuck._

Derek's walking along the perimeter of the circular room, ear tilted towards the walls.

"You know," Stiles begins conversationally, "when Scott got bitten and turned into a werewolf? I _got_ that the world was a lot bigger than I thought it was. Like if werewolves are real then a lot of other crazy stuff might be. But _aliens_ was **nowhere** on that list."

Derek ignores him and keeps on doing whatever he's doing. Stiles decides to examine the stuff resting on the only raised surface in the room. He wonders what the bullet shaped chrome bars are. Listening devices? Weapons? AI?

And what _is_ the nice smelling pink liquid in the pot?

Stiles carefully picks a rod up, sticking his tongue out at his exaggerated reflection before examining the device more carefully. It's all metal and just over 4 inches long. Seamless.

His fingers are sliding over the flat base when Derek asks, "Do you smell that?"

Stiles jerks, and jumps again when the device in his hands begins to vibrate in a familiar way. Yelping, the human stumbles back, chrome vibrator falling to the floor, buzzing merrily on the floor.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is." Stiles whispers in horror, wide eyes darting between Derek, the vibe and the bed. Oh God. Does that mean the pink liquid is what he thinks it is?! This can't be what he thinks it is!

His voice rising high in panic. "I know I said I wanted to try something a little voyeuristic but having sex with _aliens_ watching us was _not_ what I meant!"

"What are you even talking about?" Derek asks, walking over to hold Stiles' arms. "You're not making any sense."

Stiles grabs his werewolf boyfriend by his stupidly attractive face and explains, "We got zapped up by aliens. We're stuck in a room with a bed and a set of vibes and lube. What does that tell you?"

Derek frowns in confusion. Stiles stares back, willing Derek to GET IT because it's too crazy to say aloud. He sees the realization flash in Derek's eyes, which widen as he looks up. " _That's_ why they're pumping pheromones in."

"Phero-" Stiles chokes on the word. He gives up and drops his head on Derek's shoulder with a whine. "How is this our life? Werewolves, I can deal with. Werejaguars was a stretch but I dealt with it. But _aliens _that want us to have sex? That's no-whoa."__

His head spins. Stiles blinks dazedly up at Derek, feeling kitten weak and _hot_. Why does his skin feel like it's shrinking? And his heart pounding so hard and fast? Why is he getting hard so fa-

"Shit." Stiles slurs against Derek's neck. "Pheromones."

Derek's Adam's apple bobs close to Stiles' mouth before he nods. It's easier than breathing to lean in and kiss the stubbled patch of skin. Stiles feels like there's a fire lit under his skin and nothing will cure it besides Derek's come in him.

"Stiles. We shouldn't. You're not...." Derek trails off, following Stiles back to the bed, nose dragging down Stiles' hot cheek before stealing a kiss.

Stiles moans as they fall back together, impatient hands yanking each other's clothes off. There's a strange whirring noise, followed by a soft, melodic whistling, coming from somewhere as they strip. It's only when Derek reaches over to grab the lube pot, does Stiles notice the 'window' which has opened overhead. And the audience watching them.

"We got company." Stiles jerks his chin up.

Derek glances up at Stiles' words, flashes his eyes and fangs at the bright eyes aliens watching them before covering Stiles' naked body with his own. Stiles grunts, then hisses when Derek's slick hand curls around their dicks before pumping at a merciless pace.

It shouldn't be this hot. Stiles shouldn't feel like his brain is melting when he comes within _minutes_ , dick aching so hard he wants to _cry_. It's got to be whatever chemical the aliens have pumped into the room. And the lube too.

"More." Derek growls through his fangs, lube and come slick fingers moving before Stiles' balls to tease his hole.

Stiles moans, pushing his hips down on Derek's fingers. "Fuck yeah." He agrees.

 

* * *

 

6.

**Chosen Trope:**  magically de-aged

 

  
The first thing Derek notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is that he can't keep his shirt on.   
  
Derek finds him standing in the loft kitchen eating a bowl of cereal over the sink, all golden skin and lithe back and a cocky, jutted hip with his holster hanging low.   
  
He waits until the the kid notices him, raises a blond eyebrow.   
  
"Sir--" Derek says, slightly exasperated, and holds up the teen's shirt.   
  
The Sheriff snorts and turns away, finishes his meal. When he's done, he struts over like he can't help it, all boy swagger, and takes the shirt out of Derek's hand and puts it back on.   
  
An hour later, Derek watches helplessly as the kid skins his shirt off again and balls it up before he tosses it behind the couch. 

  
* 

  
The second thing he notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is how strong he still is when he's winding up to put his fist right in Agent McCall's face.   
  
"--wait!" Derek says and winces when that fist connects, bloodies McCall's mouth.   
  
"What the h-hell--" the man cries out in surprise, tripping backwards.   
  
"Come on," the Sheriff growls as he grabs Derek's arm and drags him away.   
  
They run until the Sheriff is panting, his baby-face stained red, his chest heaving. They duck behind a car in the hardware store parking lot like hooligans.   
  
The Sheriff laughs then, head tossed back into the car's side as he catches his breath. "Christ, I've wanted to do that for god knows how long," he admits. "At least this witch spell was good for one thing."   
  
He grins at Derek then and Derek lets out a hard, frustrated breath at how annoyingly attractive he is in his self-satisfaction. 

  
* 

  
The third thing he notices about teenage Sheriff Stilinski is how deeply he kisses, slanting their lips together so he can eat Derek's stunned mouth out.   
  
"Yeah, come on, kiddo. That's it--" the teenage boy croons when Derek rips away to hitch in shallow, agitated breaths.   
  
"Sheriff--" he tries and skinny arms wrap around his neck and his mouth is claimed again, curious tongue flirting all over the sensitive corner of his lips.   
  
They make out for a long time, the boy's fingers playing with the hair at his nape, stroking down under the collar of his tee-shirt to warm him up, gentle him.   
  
When they pull away, the world is narrowed down to soft, pink edges. The boy's tender little stomach makes Derek's claws pop.   
  
Derek pins those hips to the couch and nuzzles down, teeth sinking in the teen's waistband, tugging.   
  
"Oh my god, son," the Sheriff rasps, dropping his head back and arching.   
  
Derek frees him, his cock all plump and rosy at the tip, like a cherry Derek wants to savor in the softness of his inner cheek. He pops it in his mouth, muffles a groan around it, loving all that silky, rigid skin.   
  
He wrecks the Sheriff, one heated suck at a time, watching every single shudder of pleasure that quakes through that skinny, young body, every single hitching sob that trembles on his mouth.   
  
"Gonna come, oh fuck, Hale. I'm gonna come--" the Sheriff says, voice frantic, starting to twitch, hands finding Derek's hair and wrenching at it.   
  
Derek closes his eyes and moans for him, wants the Sheriff to mess his mouth up with his orgasm.   
  
"Oh fuck, goddamn--" the Sheriff growls, hips jerk-jerking and then he comes with a broken "Sweetheart--" like he can't help it.   
  
After, Derek pulls off with a pop, wipes his raw mouth off on his forearm and watches the boy sprawl, soft and glazed over, looking so much like Stiles in his come-stupid pleasure. 

 

* * *

 

7.

 **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap ****

A harsh laugh, lightning, and a thunderclap accompanied the witch's exit from the Preserve. Stiles had just enough time to roll his eyes at the cheesy dramatics before he fell shrieking to the ground, body curling tight in an attempt to ward off the melting, searing agony that was twisting through him, leaving no piece of him untouched.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain was gone.

Still shaking, Stiles scrubbed tears from his cheeks and rolled over, looking up into the concerned faces of his friends. "H-hey, guys," he said, voice high and breathy, all that screaming ruining his vocal chords.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott slurred around a mouthful of pointy teeth.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." Stiles gently patted himself down. "It just felt… OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Scrambling to his feet, Stiles looked down in shock.

He had tits. And, okay, he'd been told that his nipples were delightfully plump by a drag queen once, but now? Now they were _tits_. Not huge, by any stretch of the imagination, but they were at least the same size as Cora's.

Whipping his shirt off over his head, he pointed his chest at Scott. "Do you see my tits?"

Scott smacked his hand to his eyes and, sounding horribly scandalized, shouted, "Stiles, what the fuck? You can't just—"

But Stiles' panicked shout drowned him out. "Oh my GOD, my dick is gone!"

A muffled giggle made Stiles glare at Kira, whose face flushed red as she bit her lip and smiled apologetically at him. That was when Stiles _remembered_.

His jeans joined his shirt on the ground, and he was half-out of his boxers when Isaac shouted, "Hey, man! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Someone," Stiles said, huffing in frustration as his foot got trapped in the slit in his boxers, "needs to fuck me. Right now."

"Oh my god, Stiles." Scott peeked through his fingers before spinning around. "What the hell? Why…?"

"There are _rules_ to this shit, Scott!" Stiles snapped, hands on his newly-widened hips as he stood naked in front of the _entire fucking pack_. "We've read enough fanfiction to know that! Oh, don't even try," he added when Scott stiffened. "I know you read every fucking link I send you."

"So… let's pretend the rest of us _haven't_ read fanfiction." Derek's voice was still growly. "What does that mean? Why are you naked?"

"It means magic has a time limit, Derek! And if you fuckers make me miss out on multiple orgasms because of your delicate sensibilities, I will shoot every single one of you. With wolfsbane bullets!"

"No one's having sex with you, Stiles!" Scott shouted at the same time Derek said, "Okay."

"Wait… what?" Stiles' mouth dropped open in shock.

Derek shrugged. "I'll do it. I mean, knowing you, you'll just run through town offering yourself to every person you see until someone takes you up on it _anyway_. It's safer if it's one of us."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You wanna have sex with _me_?"

"Look, there's a possibility that there'll be a side effect to it, right? Maybe it'll turn you back. But _maybe_ it'll kill the person you have sex with. And if that's the case…"

"Are you seriously turning this into some fucked up way to sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack?" Flailing made Stiles' boobs jiggle in interesting ways, he couldn't help noting. Hell, even _Isaac_ was watching them bounce, and dude _hated_ Stiles.

"Do you care?" Derek asked.

Stiles dragged a hand down his face. "We are _so_ getting you therapy."

"Right now?"

"No, idiot. _After_ you introduce me to multiple orgasms." Stiles threw himself bridal-style at Derek.

Thankfully, Derek caught him.

"So, big boy." Stiles fluttered his lashes. "Your place or mine?" Very deliberately, he rubbed his naked tits against Derek's chest, delighting in the zing of pleasure that shot to his groin.

"Could you at least put some clothes back on first?" Scott whined, red all the way up to his hairline. "And Jesus, Stiles, not _here_."

"Definitely not here." Lydia wrinkled her nose. "You do _not_ want anything crawling up inside you. And just a suggestion," she added. "Werewolves are _fantastic_ at cunnilingus."

Derek shifted his grip, cupping Stiles' ass as he said through gritted teeth, "We don't need help, Lydia."

Stiles squirmed, just to feel Derek's arms tighten around him. "The point of this is orgasms, dude."

"No. The point is _multiple_ orgasms. _Dudette_."

**  
**

* * *

 

8.

 **Chosen Trope:** Coffeeshop AU, with a side of Fluff, Pining, and Futurefic ****

Stiles had Derek's usual coffee -- black, _no, Stiles, I don't want the fancy crap_ \-- ready when he walked through the door.

Derek growled something that might have been _hello_ , paid for his standing order with a generous tip, and left without human conversation. He wasn't a morning person and he didn't have a structured day job to go to.

And yet, he was always the first person to show up for Stiles' ridiculously early morning shift.

##

September came with an abrupt change in schedule. Stiles warned his replacement that _tall, dark, and grumpy_ would come in as soon as the coffee shop opened.

"Your eye candy is hella hot," Cindy said later, when she handed off to Stiles for the afternoon, "But he was mad when I told him you changed shifts, and -- oh, look, here he comes now."

Derek barged into the shop like a man on a mission, stood in line with everyone else until it was his turn, and glared at Stiles as if Stiles had personally offended him.

There was coffee, a generous tip, and angry stalk out of the shop.

##

That was their new routine until the semester break in December. Christmas meant taking on double shifts during the dreaded late afternoon and evening rush hours. Stiles didn't mind so much if it meant he could afford presents for his dad, the pack, and one grumpy Sourwolf in particular.

"Um," Leigh said, tapping Stiles' shoulder with urgency. "I think you should take this one."

Derek stood at the counter, money in hand, looking as if he were about to wolf out. "Yeah, I'll take this one," Stiles said, letting Leigh make the low-fat caramel mocha for another customer.

Somehow, Stiles wasn't surprised to see Derek come in at midnight just before closing. Confused, yes, but not surprised.

##

"… no sense whatsoever," Stiles complained during a rare lull in customers. Scott gave him puppy eyes until Stiles sighed and refilled the hot chocolate, adding extra whip just because Scott had been listening to him gripe about Derek for the last fifteen minutes without complaint.

"You're right," Scott said. "It makes absolutely no sense. Derek doesn't even like coffee."

Stiles whirled, nearly dropping the cup. "He doesn't?"

"Not even a little bit. Hates the smell," Scott said. "Pretty sure he comes in to see you."

##

Stiles traded his second shift with Leigh and showed up at Derek's loft with two of the coffee shop's cardboard mugs. As soon as Derek opened the door, Stiles shoved one of them at him. "Drink it."

"No," Derek said, his nostrils wrinkling.

"Drink."

"I'll drink it later."

" _Drink_ ," Stiles said, watching with narrow eyes as Derek obeyed, sipping the coffee with a grimace. He sighed and took it away, replacing it with the second one. "Try this one."

Derek made the same wrinkled face before taking a sip, but this time his expression eased, pleasantly surprised. "Hot chocolate?"

"You should read the menu sometime," Stiles said. He rocked back on his heels, hesitant. "Or you could look at the special menu and ask me out and spend your coffee fund on me, instead."

Derek's eyebrows rose to his hairline, but there was a tiny curve of a smile, and his eyes were bright and happy.

##

It was summertime and back to the usual schedule. Derek still came in first thing in the morning, continuing his cute grumpy curmudgeon act and stomping his way over to the register.

"Your usual?" Stiles asked.

Derek grunted, knuckling an eye. His hair stuck up on one side. He was adorable. "Should've stayed in bed with me," he complained.

"Come over here," Stiles said. "I've got something that'll wake you up."

Derek trudged around the counter, not even questioning what Stiles was doing. Stiles shoved Derek against the cappuccino maker and dropped to his knees, making short work of opening Derek's jeans. "Stiles, what are you --"

"Commando, really?" Stiles raised a brow before shrugging. "Well, that'll make things easier."

Derek yelped when Stiles swallowed him whole, working him up to full hardness in a matter of seconds. Derek hissed, "This isn't on the menu!"

Stiles sucked Derek a few times before popping off obscenely. " _Special_ menu."

"I'd better be the only person to -- _holy God_ \--"

Stiles gave Derek as innocent a look as he could manage through his eyelashes, and proceeded with the Good Morning special.

 

* * *

 

9.

 **Chosen Trope:** [Robots](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Robots) ****

Danny has been making robots since he was nine years old, using the spare parts he'd found in his dad's shed. At the age of twelve, he created his first humanoid robot, J4XON, who was based on his best friend. Even though he's the oldest model in the collection, Danny's continued to upgrade him with the best hardware and the most intelligent system; he'll never admit it out loud, but J4X0N is his favourite, and he always will be.

It was natural to create Lydia next. Danny couldn't give a damn about girls, but Jackson was always vying to impress her. Personally, Danny used to think it was a lost cause, but if he ever told Jackson, his smug ego would be _unbearable_. Anyway, it seemed logical to re-create a woman next, and Danny secretly enjoyed the challenge of copying fourteen-year-old Lydia's strawberry-blonde hair and feminine curves onto LYD14.

Danny only makes Stiles next because he won't stop _pestering_ him. Danny is pretty sure Stiles is gay, but the notion makes him feel conflicted; Stiles is irritating at the best of times, but he has a distracting laugh, and constellation-like skin, and a mouth with an obvious oral fixation.

Stiles' mouth would be great at sucking dick, Danny thinks, as he smooths the perfect replica that is ST1L3's skin across the thigh.

Which is how Danny finds himself building Scott McCall, because him and Stiles are attached at the hip, and Danny has always thought their bromance was so inflated they may as well drop the 'B'. It's too hard to resist it, then - telling SC00T to jerkily place a hand on ST1L3's shoulder and push him down to his crotch.

(Danny's a perfectionist, and he's pretty sure he's got their dick sizes right; he's been subtly researching during lacrosse rehearsals in the changing room.)

By then, Danny's sixteen and he knows what he likes. When he meets Derek Hale, he instantly purchases new parts and spends every moment of his spare time reconstructing those cheekbones. D3R3K is certainly his most sophisticated creation yet, and Danny tests him out by ordering him to slide his fingers up his ass, wetting it with lube as his other hand slowly jerks off his hard, artificial dick. Danny watches D3R3K move and doesn't look away once.

No one ever finds out about his hobby. None of his exes, including Ethan, have a clue. By the time Aiden and Allison have died, and Ethan's left town, Danny has a model robot of most of them: ALL14, 3TH4N, A1D3N, K1R4Y, M4L1A - not that girls are ever more interesting to play with, but they're fun to make. With Jackson in London and Ethan gone with his grief, Danny has a lot of time to kill.

It doesn't feel weird, after making ST1L3 suck SC00T's dick, to watch SC00T angrily making out with J4X0N, or D3R3K fucking ST1L3 into the carpet, or even 3TH4N and A1D3N fingering each other messily. They're robots, they're not real; it's not like they can come, and to Danny, it's his version of live porn - what he would otherwise imagine in his mind becoming real in an entirely artificial sense. He doesn't feel a single shred of guilt at all.

The first time Danny questions himself, J4X0N has just eaten ST1L3 out, and he reaches for Danny. Danny immediately bats him away, staring at the distracting scar on J4X0N's hip that is an echo of the real-life model. "I didn't ask you to do that," Danny says.

After six years together, J4X0N seems to have learnt to override orders - which should frighten Danny, but he's so used to it now, he doesn't even react when J4X0N's arm returns to hover over Danny's neglected erection. "You want me to," he says, in the perfect imitation of Jackson's voice - the only one in the collection who can speak, after years of recording.

Danny looks at J4X0N's hand, centimetres from his dick. It looks real, and Danny knows it feels real, and really, what's the difference between this and a casual hand job in the back of a seedy club? What's the difference between this and closing your eyes to pretend it's a guy when it's actually a girl?

So Danny nods, and J4X0N's hand closes around his dick and starts to pull, and within minutes Danny is gasping, "Shit, shit, _Jackson_ ," and comes whilst staring into his best friend's eyes.

 

* * *

 

10.

 **Chosen Trope:** Fake Relationship, Bound Together, Sex Pollen, First Time, Celebratory Kiss (Mention of: Bodyswap, Tentacles, Magical Healing Cock, Barista AU, Road Trip) ****

“No, wait, that was after the alpha told us she didn't believe we were a couple,” Stiles corrected himself as he stepped over Scott, who was sprawled out on Derek's area rug, on his way back to the couch.

“No it wasn't,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles around the waist and pulling him into his lap.

“Yes it was! Remember? She said she was going to make us do that tentacle thing to prove it.”

“No, she was talking about the coniugis corpus ritual.”

“Oh, you're _right_. The tentacle thing came up _after_ we got out of the woods.”

“What's the 'coniugis corpus' ritual?” Allison asked.

“Well, you get put into this trance, and once you're deep in meditation, your spirit leaves your body. The theory is that it will only go into the body of your true mate,” Derek explained.

“That's awesome. We should totally do that,” Scott said to Allison, who beamed back at him.

“What's the tentacle thing?” Isaac questioned.

“You don't want to kno--” Derek started.

“Ever see a double-sided dildo?” Stiles asked. “It's like that only there are more sides. For _all_ your holes.”

Isaac paled. “Why is that a thing?”

“That one I've never understood,” Derek said with a shudder. “But their pack seems to love it.”

“I still don't understand how this led to the Sheriff finding you having sex,” Lydia insisted.

“Back up. I still don't understand how the alpha didn't think you were a couple,” Erica added.

“We weren't actually a couple then!”

Erica and Boyd exchanged a look that Stiles didn't miss.

“We _weren't_.” Stiles huffed and settled back on Derek's lap. “Anyway, they finally decided that the best test would be to tie us together and leave us for dead in the woods.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It wasn't a test, and they weren't leaving us for dead. It was a bonding exercise. She wanted to see how well we worked together. They would have released us as soon as we made it to the other side of the woods.”

“Would have?” Lydia prompted.

“Well, uh, someone may have tripped and triggered a sex pollen cloud.” Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, who forged on. “Whatever is in that stuff dissolved the magical binds, and the next thing I know, Derek is tearing off my clothes and throwing me onto the ground all manly like and ravishing my virgin body.”

“What really happened is that Stiles stripped off all his clothes and started to climb me like a tree,” Derek explained.

“Whatever. Then Derek got me on my hands and knees, and he started licking around my butthole.” Stiles dodged the pillow Isaac threw at him. “Is that a wolf thing? A gay thing? Because it feels fucking incredible, and you should all start doing it now if you aren't.”

Stiles looked pointedly around the room at all the blushing werewolves and their respective sex partners before continuing. “We didn't have lube or anything so he got me really wet with his tongue and stretched--”

“Stiles, you really don't have to give us the details,” Scott said.

“Yeah, Stiles,” Derek said with a smirk. “You _really_ don't have to tell them about how you complained about it hurting until I got the angle right, and then you couldn't shut up about my magical healing cock.”

“Oh my god! Would you both stop!” Erica shrieked.

“Well, I for one would enjoy hearing about the money shot,” a voice piped up from the corner.

A chorus of “Peter!” and “Gross!” rang through the room.

“I know your dad didn't catch you in the middle of a sex pollen trap.” Scott accused. “He said he found you in the Jeep parked at Java Den.”

“Oh,” Stiles blushed. “Right. That.”

Derek cleared his throat but made no move to respond.

“We were so, um, happy we survived the whole ordeal that we had celebration sex.”

“At Java Den?”

“It was a long drive back, and I had a shift in an hour,” Stiles said with a shrug and a grin. “Best end to a road trip ever. Right, Der?”

Derek pulled Stiles even closer and hid his smile in the crook of Stiles' neck.

 

* * *

 

11.

 **Chosen Trope:** Skin hunger ****

It's not a big deal for Stiles to touch to give comfort. He moves so much that he thinks it's obvious that stopping to put a hand on a shoulder or to give a hug has to mean more from him than most people. He doesn't think about it that much, though, until after the latest mess where he nearly dies and he shares hugs with everyone. Well, everyone but Derek. Derek puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder and gives him a look that isn't a frown or a sarcastic smile, and it's more than Derek has ever really given him other than slamming him into things, and Stiles has to think about why it feels so strange that _that_ is the touch that means the most. It's because Derek isn't really a toucher at all except in the case of violence, and yet he has never pushed Stiles away when he's gone to touch him. And if he thinks about it, no one else really bothers with touching Derek.

Stiles takes it upon himself to correct that injustice by starting to touch Derek more often. He nudges against him when they're standing side by side, sits down just a little too close next to him on the couch, and doesn't bother to hold himself back from the shoulder touches and half-hugs that he gives everyone else.

It takes a month before Derek finally touches him back in some kind of meaningful way, and it's to keep him from leaving with everyone else after a discussion about an omega someone smelled in town. Stiles waves off Scott and closes the door, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "What's up?"

Derek looks at him like he's lost for a moment before he clenches his hands in fists. "Why do you keep touching me?"

"Because you look like you're starving for it." Stiles shrugs and clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't know if it's just because you're a born werewolf and you're used to puppy piles or whatever and now you're not getting that, but it's obvious that it's something you need. I can help that, so I am."

"Puppy piles?" Derek manages to glare effectively for all of two seconds before he seems to fall back into confusion. "It's not a wolf thing. It's just a 'my family' thing. Peter and Cora were never big into hugging and touching, but everyone else was. I've tried not to, but I miss it."

With a nod and a deep breath, Stiles opens his arms and wraps them around Derek, pulling him into a tight hug that's returned almost immediately. It's a good hug, strong and tight, but careful of pesky things like ribs and kidneys. Combined with the scrape of Derek's stubble against his jawline, Stiles feels his body start to react and pulls his hips back slightly because it definitely isn't a time for awkward boners. When Derek pulls away, Stiles gives him a broad smile. "Any time you need to be touched, buddy, just come to me."

Derek licks his lips and lets his eyes follow down Stiles' front. "Just hugs?"

Stiles freezes. "If you want. Or more. I've got a lot of love to go around."

If he'd known the look Derek was going to give him was going to be the first step toward forever, he would have tried to memorize it. But, he does remember the look Derek gives him when he shows up in his room the next night before they exchange sloppy kisses and dry handjobs. The cuddling that comes afterward is intense, but good. And it's the start of something that both of them need. When it comes to things like this, they're both bad with words, but Derek feeds off of Stiles' touch and Stiles feeds off of knowing he's being useful. Somewhere down the line, they might even learn to call it love.

* * *

 

12.

 **Chosen Trope:** Snowed in, also: huddling for warmth ****

Here lies Lydia Martin.

Stiles, Scott, Allison and Isaac looked down on the gravestone with grief-stricken expressions.

“I told you,” Stiles suddenly said. “We should’ve put Peter back into the ground sooner.”

“Or cremated him,” Allison added.

Isaac grinned darkly. “That would’ve been oddly fitting.”

Scott sighed, a reminder to everyone not to overdo it. He could sense something watching them. They needed to be convincing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deucalion’s return had been different than anticipated. He’d warned them about the cult out for Lydia’s blood. When they had struck, he’d saved her, and forced Peter into this scenario where he killed her, and Deucalion killed him. The three of them were supposed to join Cora and Derek until the cult members were all arrested, but Lydia felt getting snowed in together like this had been his plan all along.

Lydia hated making her parents think she was dead, but the arrangements had been made while she was unconscious. As long as she was believed dead, her parents were out of harm’s way, too, so there was little point in protesting.

After two weeks in close proximity with the two homicidal werewolves, though, Lydia trusted them even less than before. Moreover, she didn’t trust herself with them.

There was something about the way Peter constantly complimented her that made her body react in a way she didn’t want it to. Deucalion’s behaviour was completely contrary to what she had been told it would be. His voice, his calm confidence, and that body of his made her thoughts drift toward naughtiness all the time.

To distracting herself, Lydia spend the days sitting in front of the fireplace, reading books and watching Deucalion and Peter bond over the “went crazy --got a bit better” experience, getting along better every day. The fire heating up the cabin was enough for them, but she felt the chill setting in more with each passing day.

At night the fire would die out, the wood gleaming in the dark for hours. Deucalion slept on soft furs in front of it, Peter took the couch and Lydia the bed. Eventually, the cold was enough to make her shivering audible one evening.

“Need another blanket?” Deucalion inquired.

Lydia pursed her lips, knowing another clammy blanket wouldn’t help; she needed more to feel warm again. “No, but...” she sighed --a terrible and yet tempting idea coming to mind. “...I could use a body or two to warm me up.”

She didn’t need to wait long, before Deucalion slipped under the covers, disturbingly naked, drawing Lydia close to him. She hadn’t heard either of them undress but Peter was also naked when she felt him leaning on her backside. Their hard, muscular bodies radiated much-needed warmth.

Lydia sighed and pressed herself closer into Deucalion, feeling him grow hard against her thigh. Peter was already hard, when he brushed against her butt. It wasn’t the kind of warming up, she had pictured, but Lydia liked their vision better.

Peter cupped her breasts, his fingers firmly pressing into them, while Deucalion roughly grabbed her butt. She let out a moan, amazed how aroused she was so quickly. It had been a while for her, and even longer since she had been with someone who actually knew how to handle her, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

“Feeling warmer?” Deucalion mocked her. “Peter, why don’t you strip her?”

Peter’s claws dug into her nightgown, slowly ripping it so her breasts spilled out. Normally, she’d protest, but as pretty as the gown was, it hadn’t been keeping her warm, and feeling her naked nipples grow firm against Deucalion’s warm, hard chest was more than making up for the loss.

As the rest of her gown was being peeled off, Lydia felt Deucalion’s hands exploring her exposed skin --he moved on top of her and began sucking on a nipple. Normally, she wasn’t into men who took charge like this, but in this situation, she understood it all too well, just as Peter did: Deucalion was the alpha.

He turned to Peter. “Don’t sulk. If she wants you to, you can join in later.”

The thought of doing it right next to Peter was making her feel deliciously naughty and perfectly wet. Lydia smiled as she wrapped her legs around Deucalion, grinding herself against his cock. Hearing the slight disappointed groan from Peter, she laughed and turned her head toward him. “I don’t know --maybe,” Lydia teased, wishing she could see Peter’s face in the dark.

 

* * *

 

13.

 **Chosen Trope:** Evil Twin ****

Alan thought it was amusing that the biting always got Chris. Maybe it was the sense of the taboo, the relation to the enemy that made the hunter so susceptible to it. Alan would not complain; it gave him a quick way to have the hunter make the rough, breathless noises Alan liked as he stroked them, squeezing their manhoods together. His teeth pressed into Chris’ pale flesh, still holding him by the neck with his mouth as Chris came over his fingers.

Chris went to his knees to help Alan finish. Despite Alan’s nerves being taut as bowstrings since this morning, his mind went pleasantly blank for a moment.

Alan needed a tissue for his hands, but Chris had cleaned him up pretty well. As he pulled up the zipper of his trousers, he glanced at Alan from the corner of his eyes.

“So what’s going on?”

Alan didn’t bother denying that by tearing Chris’ clothes off the moment he entered the Animal Clinic, he had attempted to soften a blow that was coming. It was disappointing Chris had realised so quickly, but he had grown up around Gerard and managed to make it through childhood as a decent human being. One couldn’t expect him to be too easily manipulated.

“My twin is going to pay Beacon Hills a visit.”

Chris stared.

“Repeat that.”

“You heard me the first time. My twin brother and the pack he serves are going to arrive in town.” Alan inclined his head. “I need your help containing them. I know for a fact my brother has helped the alpha kill two betas in the last three years. They are a vicious pack focused on efficiency and territory and I fear they want to include Beacon Hills.”

“You have a twin?!” Chris slapped his hand down on the metal operating table that stood in the middle of the room. “You don’t think you could’ve informed me a little earlier than ‘almost too late’ for once?!”

“This from the man who took seventeen years to tell his daughter about his job,” Alan said calmly.

Chris scoffed. “Not the same situation.”

After a long, measured breath, the hunter straightened his shoulders and stared off into a corner, brows knit as Alan could almost hear the gears turning in his head, Chris’ mind having moved on to the problem at hand. The veterinarian thought they worked well together in all ways. Chris knew how to quickly react to unexpected circumstances and Alan found himself providing them quite often.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” Chris said gruffly. “Your sister knows about this?”

Alan nodded his head.

“Is she going to come back to Beacon Hills?”

“She says no, but perhaps she will,” Alan said, combining her words with what he realistically knew Marin to act like. “In her position as a counsellor, she suggested you might like it. ‘Twins is a common fantasy’ is what she said, I think,” Alan added with a hint of a smile.

Chris raised a brow at him. “I find it difficult enough to handle one of you. You’re going to close up and move in with me and Isaac for the time they’re here, right?”

Alan wasn’t often surprised, but he was grasping for an answer and failing for a moment.

“I’m safe here, you know that.”

“This is not bad, but there is strength in numbers. Besides, you said your brother is a druid, too. Mountain Ash won’t keep him out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“If you want my help, you’ll have to take it,” Chris said.

The druid stood still, deliberating, switching out in his mind the solitary existence after the Hale pack’s demise against a spot in the very family responsible for their deaths. For a moment, a seed of anger wanted to grow in him. Then he looked at Chris, though, who’d lost everything and yet was too responsible to leave Alan here, drawing himself into the conflict from the first moment just to keep him safe.

“I guess I could use a change of tapestry.”

 

* * *

 

14.

 **Chosen Trope:** Rentboy/Hooker AU ****

His mom dies first. And then his dad dies in a blaze of gunfire. Melissa tries to take him in but there’s a shuffle of paperwork and something about something or other and he’s shipped off to a boy’s home three days after the funeral. Kicking his suitcase under his bed, Stiles looks around at the other sad sacks and flops back on the bed.

“Lights out at ten-thirty and hide any candy you don’t want stolen.”

Stiles sits up and looks at the dude directly across the aisle. He’s big and black but has kind eyes. Deciding to give his new life the benefit of the doubt for ten seconds, Stiles nods.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Jackson’s a dickhead and will steal your shit.”

“Noted,” Stiles replies.

That night he ignores the strange sounds and doesn’t think about the tears running down his face.

***

Two months in, he’s broke, without the Jeep and Scott hasn’t been to see him in three weeks. He’s donated plasma for a meager sixty bucks a pop. When Jackson comes rolling up in a hot looking black crotch rocket, Stiles nods from his spot on the steps.

“How in the fuck can you afford that?”

Looking right and left, Jackson pops Stiles upside the head. “Shut up, man.”

Jackson walks up the stairs while Stiles rubs the sore spot on his head. “Dickhead.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Stiles exclaims, popping up. Jackson gives him an up and down assessing look. But he opens the door for Stiles so Stiles figures he couldn’t have fucked up too bad with the GQ wannabe.

Later on, Boyd hands Stiles a blue pill to help him sleep. Stiles tucks it under his pillow with the other six that he already has there. He’ll need to find a new hiding place for ‘em later on, but right now, his hand wraps tight around them and he holds onto the only tangible bit of friendship he’s got in this place.

***

He watches a bunch of them sneak out of their second story window. Jackson’s bringing up the rear and he’s almost out of the window when he pauses and backs up.

“C’mon, Stillinski.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Out. We’re going out,” Jackson grinds out. “Wanna find out where I get the money for that crotch rocket?”

He does. Anything sounds more exciting than lying awake night after night looking for anything to make his miserable existence more bearable.

“I’m in.” Sliding his feet into his chucks, Stiles stands up. “Let’s go.”

***

That night it begins. He sucks the guy’s dick like it’s no big deal and when they crawl back through the window that night, he’s fifty bucks richer.

He still throws up in the bathroom. Boyd hands him a washcloth and a small smile.

***

After that, it’s not so bad. It’s not so good either. The guy behind it is some seedy skeevy looking old man who Stiles hopes he never has the misfortune to be alone with. He takes orders from ‘Miguel’ (and if that’s the guys real name, Stiles will eat his left fucking shoe).

Stiles fucks guys and fucks girls. He gets fucked by both too (who knew blue dildos were a thing?).

He drops out of school and soon he and Boyd have enough money for a shithole of their own. He’s eighteen now so it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

***

Stiles goes on a call with Miguel (who happens to drive a bad ass black camaro). Waving at the window, Stiles hustles up to the hotel room. The guy is nice enough for the most part and Stiles thinks about other things when the guy slides a finger in and another. He thinks of the smell of cinnamon rolls and bacon in the morning. Making all the right noises, Stiles closes his eyes when the guy shoves his dick in. Grunting slightly, Stiles ignores the pain because he’s back on the lacrosse field with Scott and Isaac.

“So good, so good,” Stiles says, digging his fingers into the guy’s ass.

The guy comes with a stuttering breath after he slams Stiles head into the headboard. It hurts a little and he’s too busy rubbing the top of his skull to notice the guy’s fist. It plunges Stiles into darkness almost immediately.

***

Miguel takes him to the hospital and doesn’t say what happened. Looking up into Melissa McCall’s face, Stiles loses it.

“Come home, Stiles. Just come home.”

He just might do that. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good.

 

* * *

 

15.

 **Chosen Trope:** Military AU ****

"Sailor."

The address sent a shiver of want down Derek's spine. He came to attention beside his bunk.

"Sir."

Commander Argent stalked closer, and Derek couldn't move. He felt naked even in his uniform from the burning once-over Argent gave him.

"Face your bed, sailor."

"Yes, sir."

"Arms up."

Derek stretched his arms across the top of his bunk, knees hitting the edge of the bed beneath his, and twisted his fingers into the freshly laundered sheets he'd just put on.

"Let's see how good you've been today," Argent said, a hint of a tease hidden in the gravely tones of his voice.

Derek had been good, wouldn't have been able to stop himself under any circumstance. The mere thought of Argent's disappointment made his insides twist uncomfortably.

Though he expected the touch, Argent's hands on his belt still made Derek tense for a split second. Argent chuckled.

"Are we nervous or eager, sailor?"

"Both, sir. You didn't close the door."

"I guess we'll just have to be quick then, won't we?" Argent whispered in Derek's ear. Argent's heat against his back, his very much non-regulation beard scratching at Derek's neck, the smooth, sure movements of his hands at Derek's zipper, all served to calm Derek's aching nerves.

Soon enough, Argent's hand was pushing down the back of Derek's trousers. Derek's cock came free when Argent yanked them down just below his ass, sticking straight out at attention. Argent pulled Derek's cheeks apart, exposing his hole to the open air and Argent's critical eye, his thumbs just teasing the rim. Derek barely held back the moan that wanted to burst from his chest.

"God, you're so good at following orders," Argent said as he slipped his thumb into Derek's ass with ease. "Did you skip breakfast just so you could stay in here alone and fuck yourself open for me?"

And Derek was so fucking grateful his response wasn't necessary, because he didn't know how to speak anymore. Argent had slipped his other thumb into Derek's ass and was slowly stretching him open.

"Did you start to finger yourself open before you even got out of bed? I bet you got two fingers in this perfect ass before anyone else even woke up, didn't you?"

How Argent knew his every move, Derek could never guess. He had started fingering himself while everyone was asleep. But then someone's alarm went off and Derek couldn't move--he'd just laid there with his fingers in his ass and his cock dripping all over his sheets while two dozen sailors got up and dressed and headed to the canteen.

"And I know you didn't come," he continued, and squeezed the head of Derek's cock, "because you're so hard right now, a stiff breeze could make you pop."

He took a deep, thoughtful breath as he released Derek's cock. "If you can come while I fuck you, go ahead, and come anytime. No hands. If you don't come, well, that's just too bad. You'll have to wait. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Such a good, obedient boy," Argent said as he slid his cock into Derek's asshole in one long stroke.

There was no hesitation; Argent pulled out as quickly as he'd pushed in, and fucked Derek with long, deep, sure thrusts that barely grazed Derek's prostate.

But that didn't matter. He'd been on edge for nearly two hours now, waiting for everyone to leave, for Argent to show, feeling lube trickle down his leg and hoping it didn't seep through his pants. Shoving his face into the mattress, he bit his sheets and came, his whole body twitching and spasming with the release.

Argent tightened his grip on Derek's waist, digging his fingers into Derek's sides, and God how he hoped he would bruise.

It only took a few more rough thrusts into Derek's willing asshole before Argent stilled, buried as deep inside Derek as possible.

"So good. So fucking good," he muttered into Derek's back.

Too soon for Derek's liking, Argent pulled back, his dick slipping free. Despite the burning in his muscles from stretching at such an awkward angle, Derek didn't move.

He heard Argent zipping up and moving toward the door.

"Derek," he called, and Derek's head snapped up. "On deck in twenty minutes. And you might want to change McCall's sheets. You made a mess."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a smile.

 

* * *

 

16.

 **Chosen Trope:** de-aging/aging-up

 

They're making out in Stiles' Jeep when it happens.

*

Stiles moans, spreading his knees as far as he can on the backseat, grinding his hard dick down against Derek's. Derek's mouth is on his neck, sucking a hickey into his skin, and Stiles is so close to coming he could cry.

"Would you –" he gasps, "would you let me fuck you?"

Derek makes a noise, releasing Stiles' neck. "Maybe. When you're older."

He's teasing, Stiles can tell he's teasing, which means _yes, Derek would absolutely let Stiles fuck him_ , and Stiles comes with a hoarse cry, hips hitching and fingers twisting in Derek's shirt. Derek groans beneath him, hands clutching at Stiles' hips as he pushes his own up, up, up, coming just a moment later.

Stiles attributes the bright white light to an amazing orgasm.

*

They find the witches fifteen minutes later, and he fails to connect the two.

*

He stays with Derek at his loft that night because his dad is working and he sleeps better when they're in the same bed. When he wakes up he groans and stretches, his voice sleep-rough and lower than usual.

"Oh god."

Stiles grins and blinks his eyes open, ready to tease Derek about being turned on by just his voice. Except the Derek looking back at him is decidedly not the Derek he went to sleep beside. He's obviously younger – about seventeen, clean shaven, and more wiry than built. Drawing in a sharp breath, Stiles does a quick count of his fingers.

Ten. He's awake, and a glance around tells him he's still in the loft.

"Why, uh –" His voice is still a little lower and he clears it. "Why do you look my age?"

Derek shakes his head. "Why do _you_ look twenty-five?"

Stiles' eyes widen and he scrambles up and to the bathroom. Sure enough, his reflection is several years older than it should be – he's more filled out, a tiny bit taller, and he's sporting some solid morning scruff.

"Huh."

"I think it was the witches," Derek says from behind him, and Stiles catches his reflection in the mirror.

Derek is just as naked as he was when they fell asleep, and despite the weird circumstances his dick is half-hard. Stiles feels his own dick start to fill in response, and turns to drag his gaze up Derek's newly-teenaged body.

"You know," Stiles says, grinning slowly, "you did say I could fuck you when I was older."

Derek's gaze goes dark, and he starts backing up towards the bed. He smirks, and it's just as smug and glorious as ever. "I did, didn't I?"

"Fuck," Stiles mutters, following quickly.

Derek grabs the lube from the nightstand and tosses it at Stiles before scrambling onto the bed face first, ass in the air. "Come on," he breathes, dick hanging heavy between his legs. "I've been thinking about your dick inside me for months now."

Stiles groans and coats his fingers with a generous amount of lube. "I want to rim you later, okay? However we are, I want to get my mouth all over you."

He doesn't give Derek a chance to react, sliding a slick finger into him. "Jesus," Stiles breathes. "You're so fucking tight."

He fingers Derek open quickly – werewolf healing is truly an amazing thing – and pours more lube into his hand to slick his dick with. When he has the tip of it pressed against Derek's hole, he pauses.

"You'll let me do this again, right? When we're back to us?"

Derek looks at him over his shoulder, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. "Of course I will. I love – I love it this way."

Stiles swallows and nods. "Good, because I'm not going to last very long."

He pushes in slowly, eyes rolling back at the tight, tight heat. Derek whimpers, rocking back against him, and it's mind-blowing how little time it takes for Stiles to be fucking hard into his ass and coming, coming, _coming_.

Derek is still hard when Stiles pulls out, so he flips him over, shoves three fingers into his loose, wet hole, and swallows his dick down as far as he can. Derek wails, one hand gripping Stiles' hair and holding him in place as he fucks up into his throat. Stiles groans, twisting his wrist until his fingers find and rub against Derek's prostate. Derek comes hard and Stiles swallows it all down.

They're going to have so much fun.

 

* * *

 

17.

 **Chosen Trope:** fake relationship/amnesia ****

“Oh my god, dude, we're going to be the best at being married. For justice.”

They snickered and high-fived as Scott rolled his eyes at them. Derek laughing was still so rare that Stiles' stomach lurched. Maybe this wasn't Stiles' brightest idea but it damn sure was gonna be fun.

-

The witch was not a figure of fun.

-

The old dude, some kind of Wicked cosplayer with too much power, threw a death curse and missed by a mile. Mostly because Scott had only shot him with tranquilizer and nicked his shoulder a bit, but dramatics seemed to come with the pointed hat.

Derek dragged Stiles to the jeep and they both collapsed at the loft out of habit. Now that their magical pest problem was solved, they'd go back to being uneasy friends in the morning and neither of them was particularly keen to hasten the process.

-

Stiles woke up knowing two things: that his name was Stiles and it wasn't actually his name.

The bed was nice and firm, an eight hundred dollar mattress that felt like heaven. The open loft apartment was a bit gothic for his taste, even though he couldn't remember his opinions on interior decoration in any detail. He just knew that that hole in the wall had to be some kind of statement of existential ennui.

The dude behind him on the bed with the vise-like grip and the morning wood totally wasn't what he'd expect. The beard was more mountain man than urban hipster for one. And the smile, damn, the smile was its own special category.

“Hello gorgeous, I have no idea who you are but I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He leaned over for a kiss because, and he'd swear this for the rest of his life, it felt like he'd done it a thousand times.

-

They kissed until his mountain man pushed him gently into the bed and smiled with a little confused, searching look on his angular face. “Who are you?” It wasn't said with any amount of suspicion, just mild wonder.

Stiles shrugged. “No idea. Does it matter?”

“I think my name is Derek.”

Stiles grinned. Derek. “I'm Stiles, though don't ask me why I'd be called something like that. It sounds ridiculous.”

Derek brushed his thumb over Stiles' cheek. “It suits you.”

-

Stiles found the pictures on their phones, the mix-and-match magazines under the bed – Derek sniffed out the clothes belonging to Stiles, the toothbrushes, all the small detritus of a life together. When Stiles looked at the ugly as hell floral print hand towels, he had a flash of memory, standing in Bath, Bed and Beyond with his arm around Derek and laughing at the selection of old lady patterns.

They bought them anyway because they were soft as sin.

Stiles lifted his head to catch Derek watching him with a mischevious look on his face. “Dude, I think we're newlyweds.”

“I've got one better for you,” Derek grinned. Then he popped claws out of his fingers like daisies in spring.

“Holy shit.”

-

Stiles jumped him, literally. Just launched himself and trusted that Derek would catch him, kissing and biting and ripping at the few clothes they'd bothered to put on. “I bet you can hold me up and fuck me like this.”

Derek groaned. “You're a menace, how did I ever manage to fall in love with you?”

Stiles stilled, smiling. “Doesn't matter how, but you did.”

Instead of answering, Derek kissed him harder, holding him up with one palm spread beneath his ass and the other hand pulling at their pants. The cloth ripped with a comical sound and Stiles snickered. Derek made a face like he'd been there before.

Stiles gyrated his hips, grinding down against Derek's hardness. He leaned close to whisper in Derek's ear. “I've probably made you come like this a million times, just my voice and my hands all over you. I bet we fucked on every surface in this stupid loft.”

Derek whimpered, tensing like he'd been struck by lightning. “Stiles, god.”

-

Stiles had Derek's cock in his mouth when he remembered. His mouth went slack and he looked up at Derek, whose face looked exactly like his world had just shattered to pieces. Stiles gave him a small, wicked smile and licked his lips.

“Doesn't matter how,” he said, “but you did.”

Derek's hands shook, but he nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I did.”

 

* * *

 

18.

 **Chosen Trope:** angst/darkfic/character death ****

Derek never forgets the beauty of his amber eyes, the way they light like dawn when he lies curled together with Derek. Stiles smiles impishly, fingertip grazing Derek’s chest. “Lie back. I want to take care of you.”

Derek stretches under Stiles’s hands, loving the way he barely touches him, setting his skin afire. Heat pools in his groin, his cock filling with blood. “Don’t stop,” Derek whispers. Begs. _Pleads_.

“Never,” Stiles vows. “I promise, Derek, I will never leave you behind. I am with you to death and beyond.” He wraps his hand around Derek’s cock and he can’t help but thrust into the warmth.

Derek wakes when he comes, body jerking into an unseen touch that strokes him through orgasm. Dried tears tug at his cheeks as he rolls over and tries to find Stiles’s scent in the pillow, the ghost of his touch stroking down his back.

#

“Don’t be such a scaredywolf.”

Derek catches his arm, holds Stiles back while the others move on. “Stiles—”

“I can take care of myself, big guy.” Stiles leans in, cups his hand at the nape of Derek’s neck. He holds him securely as he brushes lips to lips. Derek pushes closer, wanting more; Stiles doesn’t give it to him, stepping back with a small smirk.

“Save that thought,” Stiles orders. “Because that means we have unfinished business between us.”

“Something to come back to,” Derek finishes the thought, and Stiles grins.

“Exactly. No matter what we have to deal with, nothing can happen to either of us because there is _always_ another kiss to look forward to.”

Derek pulls him in, hand teasing across his crotch. “Another fuck,” he murmurs.

Stiles exhales roughly. “Exactly. Yes. Another fuck.” He kisses him once more. “For luck. Let’s go kick some demon ass.”

#

Derek hasn’t been in the locker room in years. The bench is cold beneath him and he shivers despite the warmth of a soft sweater and tattered jeans. Stiles stands nearby, arms crossed, rocking lightly on his feet as if he can’t stand still.

It’s _Stiles_. Of course he can’t stand still.

“Tell me again,” Stiles says.

“I have flashbacks, all the time,” Derek says quietly. “I remember things, and I can’t sort out what’s real and what’s not.”

“And you think I can help you?”

“You always do.” Derek slides off the bench, sinking to his knees; Stiles follows, one arm around his shoulder. Derek can smell body wash and deodorant and oil from the Jeep. He sucks it in, holding onto the air as if it sustains him.

“It’ll be okay,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek wants to believe him.

If only Stiles didn’t have six fingers on his hand.

#

“You think it’s funny.” Derek scrubs the towel through his hair, talking to the empty room.

“Fucking fairies and their sense of humor. Pink hair.” He snorts softly.

The door to the apartment squeaks open and closes with a thud. “Derek?” Scott calls out. “Are you talking to someone?”

Derek’s hand curls tight and he swallows his answer. “Just… no.” The touch to his shoulder helps him find his center. “Of course not, there’s no one here.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Scott nudges the door to the bathroom open, staring at Derek through the steam. “This was our first big pack problem, since—”

“I’m fine.” Derek waits a moment, repeats it firmly. “I’m _fine_.”

When Scott leaves, Derek turns back to the mirror, sees his hair—bright pink—sticking straight up. Ghostly fingers card through it, and he closes his eyes, leaning into the familiar touch.

#

“You _promised_ you would never leave me.” Derek’s voice catches, strangled and tight. He inhales the faint reminder of Stiles’s scent trapped in the fabric of the sofa. Tears squeeze out at the corners of closed eyes; he pushes at them, trying not to let go. Trying not to lose control.

 _Undress. Trust me_.

Derek pushes his jeans down, feels the ghost of a touch gentle on his cock, stroking while he gasps, refusing to open his eyes and see the truth of open air.

“I hear you.” Hips thrust, begging for more. “I dream about you. You talk to me and _touch_ me…” He groans, an unseen grip tight around the base of his cock. “I miss you.”

 _I haven’t left. I won’t, I promise. I’m with you until death and beyond_.

Derek comes with a shout, then curls into unseen arms that cradle him close while he cries.

 

* * *

 

19.

 **Chosen Trope:** Tail!fic, Magical healing cock ****

Someone suggests they fuck like rabbits, which makes Derek grin and Stiles grimace, but they end up tumbling in bed anyway because they’re still in that honeymoon phase, cursed or not.

There’s a thrum that fills Derek’s ears while his hands slide down Stiles’ back. The boy is naked beneath him, arching with panting breaths and low keening noises. Derek leans down and kisses speckled skin of his ass cheek, soft fur tickling his face, loving the way Stiles gasps.

“Derek,” he says in a soft needy voice. “Come on, just…” Derek wraps his hand around the brown bunny tail and tugs gently, just so, and Stiles groans. The thrumming is faster, the rabbiting heart escalated in anticipation. “ _Derek_.”

“My, what a cute tail you have,” he murmurs.

“All the better to tempt the wolf with, my dear,” Stiles responds, tone strained. He rolls his hips forward, grinding against the mattress, before Derek manhandles him to stand on his knees. Stiles hisses, “If you would _just hurry_ \--”

Derek smiles, his hands pulling Stiles’ ass cheeks apart, presenting the loosen and wet hole. “Now, what do you know about the tortoise and the hare?”

“Is this payback for all the jokes?” Stiles wonders aloud into the pillow. “A witch curses me and we all think this will be a wonderful way to get back at Stiles?” He yelps when the werewolf pulls on the stub of a tail again, harder, then groans when he firmly presses his thumb underneath it, above his hole.

“Oh God,” he breathes, hips rolling back against the pressure. “Oh, dude, I need… That, its just so-- won’t you just--”

Derek makes a sound that isn’t unlike a purr, his chest rumbling with a quiet, pleased sound at the incoherent mess. “Would you like me to fuck you, Stiles?” He takes one hand to stroke himself, wet with lube and saliva.

Stiles, in response, full-body shudders and the rabbit heart ticks up with speed. “Please, _please_ , I want you, please Derek!”

“How do you want me? Do you want me to just fuck you?” he asks, tone dark and lusting, sliding his cockhead up and down the crack of Stiles’ ass.

“D-deep, hard, f-fast,” Stiles says in gasps, “pull my hair, _fuck_ , pull my tail, _fuck--- fuck, just--_ knot me, _oh my God_ , I want you to fuckin’ knot me, Derek. Do-- _nnnnnghhh…_ ” Derek growls, eyes flashing blue, and presses into him without stopping, leaning forward to pull Stiles to him by wrapping his arms under him and gripping his shoulders.

Stiles is already so pliant and eager that Derek takes to thrusting into him hard. Stiles curves, leaning on his arms and hips pushing back to everything Derek gives him. During sex, they’re usually both silent save for grunts, moans, and sighs, but now, _now--_

“ _Derek_ ,” he whines softly, and Derek finds a hand beneath his chest and grips it tight. His other hand threads in his hair, holding. “ _Yes_ , give it to me, _give it--_ ” Derek jerks his head back, forcing Stiles to arch like a bow, and doesn’t that span of neck just give Derek the want to bite.

“Can I…?” Derek pants, thrusts speeding. He can feel Stiles’ legs moving from beneath him, knees crawling and spreading for him to get Derek deeper. He groans loud, “ _Stiles_ , fuck, just--- _fuck…_ ” He rubs against the speeding pulse point, feeling the thrumming on his lips.

“Anything, _anything_ ,” Stiles says like a plea and prayer, whispered.

Derek opens his mouth and bites, and he’ll swear he feels the tail twitch between them just a little, Stiles gasping and keening. He licks the red area before speeding up his thrusts, the want to come taking over him, and he starts angling his hips _just so_.

“Jesus, Jesus _fuckin’--_ ” Stiles bites his lip. Derek lets go of his hair, reaches between them and tugs his rabbit tail, fingers scratching through the fur, and Stiles tenses. He clenches hard around Derek’s cock, his fingers gripping Derek’s, with his mouth open in a silent yell as he comes untouched. Derek smells it, and it brings him close.

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that,” Stiles says, slurred. “You gonna knot me? See how my tail will look with your knot inside?”

Derek groans, “ _Yes…_ ” His knot begins swelling and soon he’s forced to stay inside, coming. He’s slowly fighting the haze when he notices the tail begin to disappear.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks later. “Magic cock does it again.”

 

* * *

 

20.

 **Chosen Trope:** cross-dressing ****

Derek answered the doorbell. He was in jeans and barefoot, putting the last of the dishes away. It was late, almost nine and he wasn’t expecting anyone.

Certainly not Stiles.

In a red cloak, with a hood pulled over his head.

“Trick or treat?” Stiles’ eyes twinkled and Derek wanted to respond to the mischief.

“It’s not Halloween,” he pointed out.

“Treat it is then.” Stiles pushed past him into the apartment, cloak swishing around his legs.

Derek closed the door, leaned back against it and folded his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles turned around slowly, the cloak fastened shut all the way to the floor. “Giving you a choice.”

Derek raised one eyebrow. “And that would be?”

“Do _you_ want to be the one who fucks me first or should I go out and find someone willing?”

Derek froze at the words. Stiles started pulling at the cloak, snaps popping open as he tugged. The scarlet fabric slid to the floor and Stiles stood in front of him.

Derek was moving before his brain caught up, on his knees, his mouth on the vulnerable skin between the top of the stockings and the edge of the leather corset.

Stiles staggered back, sucking in a gasp as Derek bit at his skin, hands coming up and shaping his ass. “So I’m taking that as a yes?” Stiles asked when Derek pushed him against the side of the sofa.

“Shut up.” Derek’s growl was feral, the wolf so close to the surface that it was scratching him bloody from the inside.

He pulled at the panties cupping Stiles’ cock and balls. He was salivating as he tugged them down. He barely noticed the stilettos as Stiles lifted first one foot and then the other.

He wasn’t sure who moaned the loudest when he put the sopping wet fabric in his mouth. The taste of Stiles exploded, hitting his lizard brain, announcing that this was mate, home, forever. _HIS_

He felt Stiles’ fingers in his hair, tugging hard as Derek ran a hand back up one long, slim leg to heft the weight of Stiles’ balls in the palm of his hand.

“God, fuck, Derek, god.” Stiles stumbled again, and Derek manhandled him towards the bedroom. He pushed Stiles in front of him, eyes locked to the curve of his ass as he wobbled in the ridiculous shoes.

Stiles faltered as the heel of one stiletto caught on the edge of the carpet. Derek grabbed him, shoved him face-first against the door and fell to his knees again.

He rubbed his face over the leather corset, let his hands run up and down the fishnet stockings and snapping the garter ties so that Stiles jerked in his grasp.

“Please,” Stiles begged so prettily as Derek spread his ass cheeks. Stiles’ hole was glistening and loose.

“You prepped yourself?” Derek could barely speak. His cock was like iron in his jeans.

“Boy scout.” Stiles trembled. For all his bravado, he was still a virgin. Derek wanted to take his time with him.

“Let’s take care of this.” Derek drove his tongue into the musky heat of Stiles’ body without warning. The yell that followed made him smile into Stiles’ skin.

“You’re _such_ an asshole.” Stiles was almost sobbing. Derek reached round him to wrap his fingers around Stiles’ cock.

Derek sucked at Stiles’ hole as he tugged on his dick. The combined stimulation sent Stiles shuddering.

“Fuck you. I’m not ready to come yet!” Stiles practically snarled at him.

Derek ignored him, pushing a finger into Stiles alongside his tongue. Stiles howled, arching up and back in one long, lovely line.

The heels made Stiles’ legs seem endless. The corset cinched in his waist, fooled the wolf into thinking that this pretty boy would be perfect for breeding.

He turned Stiles once more, stared up at him as he fed Stiles' cock into his mouth. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as he watched.

While he occupied Stiles with the sight in front of him, Derek sneaked his finger back into Stiles’ hole, pressing deep and true. He crooked it slightly, felt the give of flesh as Stiles jerked and came hot and bitter down his throat.

Stiles shuddered as Derek let him slip from between his teeth. “What big teeth you have, alpha.”

Always with the cocky comeback Derek thought.

“All the better to eat you with, Little Red.”

Derek let Stiles see the wolf behind his eyes and pounced.


	6. Group B (Clean)

21.

**Chosen Trope:** Bodyswap ****

 

Chris leaned in close to the mirror, mesmerized by the hazel eyes looking back at him. He tilted his head to the left half expecting the reflection to stay still, but it moved with him. He ran his fingers down his stubble-covered jaw and watched the reflection do the same. The face under his fingers was as familiar to him as his own, but he'd never seen it from this perspective.

 

He looked down at his hand. The nails were blunt, but he knew that underneath the surface there were sharp claws just waiting to burst out. Chris concentrated on the nail, trying unsuccessfully to make it change.

 

"Stop it." Derek's voice was familiar but wrong. "The last thing we need is for you to transform."

 

Chris dropped his hand. Derek was right. Body swapping spells were bad enough without him going on a rampage because he couldn't control the wolf. That had probably been the warlock's goal, but Chris knew how to keep a tight rein on his emotions and thankfully he didn't feel any extra aggression or primitive impulses. He did feel a glorious lack of pain and a whole lot more flexible than he had this morning, though. Maybe he should thank the warlock for that.

 

He took a deep breath and turned around to look at Derek who was sitting on the bed. No matter how much supernatural shit he'd dealt with in his life it was still fucking weird to look at your own body from the outside. "How are you doing?"

 

Derek frowned, his eyebrows pulling down into an expression completely unfamiliar on Chris' face. "I've never been human. It's strange to feel this weak."

 

"Thanks," Chris said dryly. He turned back to the mirror and took off his shirt, exposing the body that he'd spent hours exploring from the outside. He brushed his thumbs over his nipples and shivered as they hardened into tight nubs. Derek always loved it when he did that and now he knew why.

 

"Having fun?"

 

Chris tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked back at Derek. He grabbed the fabric of his pants to keep himself from touching anything else without getting permission. "Do you mind?"

 

"Not as long as I can do the same."

 

"Of course," Chris said. "You can do anything to my body that you want. I trust you."

 

Derek smiled at him. "Good because I really want to get my hands on your dick."

 

Chris laughed. "Same."

 

"I trust you, too," Derek said softly. "You can masturbate or whatever you want to do."

 

"I think I'll take a long shower then." Chris loved Derek, but it was strange seeing his own body from the outside and he'd rather explore without that mindfuck in front of him.

 

Derek stood up and took off his pants. "Take your time."

 

Chris didn't waste any time stripping off the rest of Derek's clothes and climbing into the shower. He saved Derek's dick for last and by the time Chris had thoroughly explored the rest of Derek's body, he was painfully hard and the pink head of his dick was just peeking out of his foreskin.

 

Chris gently stroked the length of Derek's dick. He'd been circumcised as a baby and married to a woman for most of his adult life, so foreskin was still relatively new for him. Derek had had to teach him how to handle it and he was excited to actually see what it felt like first hand.

 

He gripped his dick harder and stroked down, hissing as the foreskin pulled back to reveal the helmet-shaped head underneath. He held the skin back and used his free hand to touch the exposed tip. A wave of overwhelming sensation hit him and he jerked his hand away. Derek was so much more sensitive than he was.

 

Chris resumed stroking his cock, fascinated by the slide of the loose skin. He took it slow, trying to better learn Derek's body so that he could give him an amazing hand job later. His plans were cut short when he slid his other hand back and pressed on his perineum. The sudden pleasure blindsided him and he came hard.

 

Thankfully the swap meant that Chris now had the refraction time of a twenty-five year old and could try again soon. Derek on the other hand had probably gotten in one good wank and fallen asleep.

 

Maybe he really should send that warlock a thank you card.

 

* * *

 

22.

**Chosen Trope:** Fusion - Star Trek - pon farr ****

 

-

 

The man before him is crouched on all fours, snarling in his direction.

 

_Please_ , Stiles pleads, sending his thoughts to Derek while fending the waves of lust that threaten to bring him to his knees. _Control your anger_ , imzadi.

 

Derek squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears. “Don’t call me that! Stay away if you refuse me!”

 

“Derek,” Stiles says, calmly, “You need to see Deaton. It’s the _pon farr_ making you irrational.”

 

“I’m not even Vulcan, you little shit,” Derek barks, leaping forward, shoving Stiles into the shuttle wall. Without warning, he traces Stiles’ lips with his own, fingers gently cradling Stiles’ jaw. “I want you.”

 

He brings their hips together in a soft press. “For a Betazoid who relies on his empathic abilities for a living, you are terrible at it if you can’t. Feel. It.”

 

Stiles can’t say he didn’t wonder. He believed he could not be so lucky as to find a mate, even in his _imzadi_. Stiles’ resolve is weak on a good day, when Derek has on more than just his standard Starfleet issue trousers--but with Derek’s hot breath in his ear, every syllable punctuated with a hard grind against his cock, presented with Derek’s well-sculpted naked chest having stripped off his jacket and undershirt, skin glistening with the sweat and grime of their ballsed-up away mission... Forget it.

 

Stiles presses back, bringing his hand up to follow Derek’s forehead ridges, less pronounced than those of a full Klingon’s.

 

For all that Derek had Klingon blood in him, never once did Stiles think he could exhibit such raw ferality; the way he holds Stiles in place by the neck, using his mouth and tongue to mark sloppy, wet trails from Stiles’ face to shoulder.

 

_Imzadi. Listen to me_ , Stiles begs again as Derek nearly tears his shirt off his body, shouts aloud when Derek bites him right above his nipple. Hard.

 

_T’Jen passed on her blood fever when she forced you into a mindmeld!_

 

Immediately, Derek pushes him away and Stiles feels the loss, like a serrated knife is pulling out and gouging out the best of him.

 

Derek collapses into himself, huddling in the corner of the shuttlecraft, “I’m going out of my mind. I feel like my body is trying to crawl its way out of my skin, Stiles.” He slams a fist against the panel in front of him and Stiles holds a breath before realizing the shuttle has already made a crash landing today and there’s nothing they could reasonably do to damage it further. “And you’re telling me it’s--it’s because of a <i.”

 

“Yes. Just wait it out. We’ve sent the distress signal. Scott will have us out before it gets bad.” Stiles regrets the fib straightaway, feeling Derek’s anger go from fifty to a thousand in two nanoseconds flat.

 

“Before it gets bad!? Stiles, it is taking everything I have not to break and rut you right here and now, I am beyond bad.” Derek crowds Stiles backwards until he leans uncomfortably against their now defunct replicator. “You want it too,” Derek takes a deep inhale below Stiles’ ear, “I can smell it.”

 

The undertone of need becomes an overwhelming roar in Stiles’ body. Derek is the strongest person Stiles has ever met, that he is still able to restrain himself under such conditions. Stiles has no such compulsions.

 

“Derek, please, Derek, I can’t, I can’t--Derek!” Stiles claws his nails repeatedly down Derek’s back, scrambling his legs to find purchase, to make them one. The urge he knows is not his own burns, like a firestorm raging all along his insides. Stiles attempts to push out these feelings, tries to regain himself, but it’s useless. Derek is _imzadi_. They are beloved. They could not be unraveled from the other even if they were not overcome.

 

“This is the vulcan’s fault, but this will be on our term’s. This is for us. Say yes,” Derek stutters, releasing Stiles’ cock from its confines in his pants. Stiles nods ardently, feeling a fever build when Derek ruts their cocks together.

 

Derek whispers, “Come. Imzadi.”

 

And Stiles does, a sense of intense adoration washing over him as silky, white fluid splashes onto Derek’s stomach.

 

Stiles thrusts Derek to the ground and takes his release from him, in his mouth, Derek’s satisfaction surging and flowing through them both in an infinite circle of delight.

 

_We are one, beloved._

* * *

 

23.

**Chosen Trope:** Huddle for warmth ****

 

After the nogitsune, Stiles sleep walked. Most of the time he stayed in the house, his father finding him on the stairs, or in the laundry room with the door shut, standing there with his eyes closed. He woke with a start each time, surprised to find himself anywhere but his bed, afraid that he’d been possessed again.

 

He was sure of it.

 

Scott promised to sleep over, to watch him. The next morning, Stiles woke up in his own bed. Scott said he got up, walked around his room while talking about werewolf mating habits, then went back to bed. Stiles wasn’t possessed, he was over stressed, over stimulated. He needed sleep. The constant vigilance was taking a toll on his body.

 

Stiles was fine with it as long as he wasn’t going to be the prisoner of his own body again. He could handle walking around his house mumbling to himself about mating patterns. Well, he was fine until one night he went for a walk all the way into the preserve, barefoot.

 

He woke up screaming, with someone’s arms wrapped around him. As he fought against them, he could tell he wouldn’t be able to win.

 

“Please, please let me go.”

 

“Stiles, stop,” Derek said. Stiles’ knees gave out when he realized who it was, tears streaming down his face. He looked around, finding himself near the coyote den, where he had been found _before_. Stiles wiped at his face, looking up at Derek.

 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, his teeth chattering. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until that moment. His feet, too, hurt, were cut up from the trek through the woods.

 

“I should ask you the same thing,” Derek said, sighing. “You’re freezing.”

 

“No shit,” Stiles said as he let Derek help him to his feet. He winced, gritting his teeth as he took a step forward. “Ow, fuck.”

 

“Sit,” Derek said, putting a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder until he sat down. He was only in a pair of thin pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, nothing more. He could see his breath in the crisp night air.”Come here.”

 

Stiles didn’t protest as Derek pulled him close, his eyes wide as Derek wrapped his arms around him. Derek was only in a henley and jeans, not his usual leather jacket. Stiles wished he had the jacket.

 

“I called Scott when I picked up your scent. They should be on their way.”

 

“Hmm,” Stiles hummed, savoring Derek’s body heat, his eyes closing. He could feel the rise and fall of Derek’s chest, his heart beat against his cheek as Derek’s body heat helped keep him warm. Derek’s hot breath against his hair, stubbled cheek brushing against him, caught his attention as Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ feet. He was practically in Derek’s lap, clinging to him. Stiles moaned when Derek began leaching pain from him, his hands slowly massaging Stiles’ torn up feet. “How’d you know,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s chest, his fingers digging into Derek’s back as Derek slid his hand up Stiles’ calf, then back down to his foot again, his mouth ghosting across Stiles’ forehead as he tilted his head up, his lips finding Derek’s.

 

Derek’s lips were soft against his, his stubble biting as the kiss deepened.

 

“I’ve always been able to find you,” Derek confessed, his lips still pressed against Stiles’. Stiles shivered, but not from the cold. He smiled, kissing Derek once more.

 

“I’m cold,” Stiles said, pressing their bodies even closer, if that was even possible. Derek grunted, but his grip on Stiles’ tightened, his arms engulfing him. Stiles closed his eyes as his nose brushed over Derek’s, teasing him before kissing him once more.

 

“They’re here,” Derek whispered, his lips trailing down Stiles’ neck, mouth hollowed as he breathed Stiles in. “They’ll take you home.”

 

“I want you to take me home,” Stiles confessed as his father and Scott appeared. Derek smiled, kissing Stiles lightly on the forehead before helping Stiles to his feet once more.

 

* * *

 

 

24. 

**Chosen Trope:** forced to share a bed ****

 

Jackson had woken up sometime during the night to arms wrapped around his waist and something hard poking him in his lower back. It took him a minute to realize where he was and who was behind him before he was shoving Aiden away and jumping off the bed. He was going to kill both Ethan and Danny for making him room with Aiden.

 

“What the hell?” Aiden asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“You ass.”

 

“What I do.”

 

“I just woke up and you were touching me!”

 

Aiden groaned and turned over, going back over to his side of the bed. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

 

“Then why were your arms around me?” Jackson asked. “And your dick pressed against me?”

 

“Cause I was having a very, very nice dream about a beautiful lady,” Aiden replied. “And then you had to go and ruin it.” Aiden sighed and grabbed his pillow hugged it to his chest. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”

 

Jackson slowly crawled back into bed and turned away from Aiden, trying to ignore the fact that Aiden’s body pressed against his had felt very, very nice. He glanced over his shoulder at Aiden who had fallen asleep again.

 

Jackson wasn’t going to lie, Aiden was attractive and he may or may not have had fantasied a couple times about him. The only issue was besides his body, Jackson didn’t like Aiden at all and the only reason they were sharing a bed was because Danny and Ethan refused to be separated.

 

He groaned slightly and adjusted his boxers. He couldn’t stop thinking about Aiden’s body pressed again him, and how he wanted Aiden’s cock. He shifted in the bed again, his cock brushing against the sheets sending pleasure shooting through him. He moaned without thinking and Aiden’s snores stopped a few seconds later.

 

“Are you-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Aiden rolled over. “You know, I could help you take care of that.”

 

“Thought you didn’t like me.”

 

“I don’t,” Aiden replied, his hand moving along Jackson’s waist and into his boxers. Jackson moaned again, bucking into the touch. “But we’re both stuck here with these awkward boners. Might as well help each other out, right?” Aiden dragged his teeth along Jackson’s shoulder, making him shiver. “what do you say?”

 

Jackson nodded and pushed his boxers down. Aiden let go of his cock and finished taking them off before jumping off the bed and going through his bag. When he came back he had a small bottle of lube and a condom. He fingered Jackson open for a few minutes, smirking when Jackson had to bit his lip to keep his moans in so they didn’t wake Danny and Ethan. “I want you to know that I like fucking rough,” Aiden said, pulling his fingers out and rolling on a condom.

 

“Good,” Jackson said. “That’s how I like being fucked.”

 

Aiden thrust inside of him, Jackson groaning and gripping the sheets. He didn’t waste much time letting Jackson adjusted before he was fucking hard, pounding into him and biting down on Jackson’s neck and shoulder, leaving marks that would quickly fade.

 

Jackson moaned, wrapping a hand around his cock and trying his best to keep quiet as Aiden fucked him. It was fast and rough, everything he imagined sex with Aiden would be. He reached back with his free hand and grabbed Aiden’s hip, claws accidentally coming out and digging into his skin. Aiden grunted in pain, but didn’t stop, fucking him harder.

 

After a few minutes, Aiden growled and pulled out, manhandling Jackson until he was on his hands and knees. He thrust back inside of him, gripping Jackson’s hips tightly and started to pound into him once more. The two of them moaning, Jackson’s claws tearing at the sheets as Aiden’s dug into his skin.

 

Aiden’s fangs were on his neck, grazing his skin just barely biting in. Jackson groaned and arched his back, feeling the material of Aiden’s shirt rubbing against his back. “Bite me,” Jackson growled. “Do it.”

 

And Aiden did, biting into him and Jackson nearly screamed as he came, his whole body shaking. They collapsed to the bed and Aiden continued to thrust into him until he came as well. They lay in silence for a few minutes, neither of them knowing what to say until Aiden pulled out of Jackson and rolled away from him. “Danny and Ethan can’t know.”

 

“Like I’d tell them.”

 

* * *

 

 

25.

**Chosen Trope:** Student/Teacher ****

 

Stiles squirmed on the seat, his embarrassment at being sent to the principal’s office at the age of seventeen making his cheeks flush bright red. Just because he’d been texting in class a few times. Or seven. And perhaps he shouldn’t have mocked Coach’s haircut, but _really_ , couldn’t he see he was balding? That man had no sense of humor.

 

The door creaked open ominously and Stiles swallowed and stood, feeling like he was seven again. He took heavy steps past the threshold and into the large, dark office, eyes trained on the floor. He plopped down in the chair before looking up to see the man seated across the desk from him, his jaw dropping in shock.

 

“Derek?” He leaned forward, hands braced on his legs, his mouth curving up into a huge smile until laughter bubbled up and out of him as he took in Derek’s blue silk tie and ridiculous tweed jacket.

 

Derek looked less than amused, fingers drumming along the big chair’s armrests. The whole ensemble made him look older and in charge, and Stiles was really digging it.

 

“What did you do this time, Stiles?” Derek asked in a no-nonsense way that made Stiles giggle.

 

“How are you the principal? What, are they just taking anyone who walks in off the street? I mean, I know it’s been a tough job to fill. But still... _you_?”

 

Derek gave a roguish smile that made Stiles’ skin tingle and had him squirming with a meek grin to mask his nervousness.

 

“That’s Mr. Hale, please. And believe it or not, I _am_ qualified to do this job. Now, I asked you before. _What did you do_?”

 

“Texting in Coach’s class,” Stiles finally blurted out, feeling embarrassment creep down his neck. Derek held out his hand and Stiles fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the phone and placing it in Derek’s palm. Derek took it and sat back in his chair, lining it up on the edge of the desk as he fixed Stiles with a pointed gaze.

 

“What do you think the proper punishment is for this, Stiles?”

 

Stiles’ palms were instantly sweaty, his shirt collar choking him. He tugged at it, unsure how to answer the question and knowing he’d _never_ felt like this in the principal’s office before. Mostly it had been death threats and the like.

 

When Stiles remained silent Derek raised his eyebrow, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Stand up and pull your pants down.”

 

“What? No way,” was Stiles’ immediate response, his dick chubbing up in his underwear. He crossed his legs quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment and his arousal at Derek’s stern demeanor and hot teacher look.

 

“Do it now or I’ll call your dad.”

 

And that had Stiles scrambling to stand, hand lowering to his zipper even though he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do. He pushed the pants down over his hips, feeling humiliated as his half-hard dick sprung free beneath Derek’s hot gaze.

 

Derek rounded the corner of the desk and slid up behind Stiles, pressing him forward at the shoulders and making him lean against the desk. The position pushed Stiles’ ass out and he felt his face flaming as Derek’s hands rubbed warmly against his naked skin and then forced the two cheeks apart.

 

The first slap of Derek’s palm made Stiles startle, like he’d been under the illusion that something else might be happening. Then there was a second and a third, the pain fanning out with a dull heat. Derek must have _experience_ at spanking because he waited just the right amount of time for Stiles to relax before he was at it again, drawing little yelps while Stiles hung his head and just took it.

 

“You’re not enjoying this, are you, Stiles?” Derek whispered as he reached around and grasped Stiles’ cock.

 

“N-no,” Stiles got out, his body jerking forward into the tight fist.

 

“Liar,” Derek whispered as he twisted his hand. Another swat made Stiles lift on his toes and suddenly his orgasm rushed over his skin, his come spurting out over Derek’s fingers and onto the stacks of paperwork on the desk.

 

Derek stepped back, smoothing down his jacket as Stiles panted, red-faced and bare-bottomed.

 

“Detention after school today, Mr. Stilinski. You have to clean up this mess, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

26.

**Chosen Trope:** Made Them Do It ****

 

Derek’s honest to god _nuzzling_ Stiles' neck, clawing at his shirt when they stagger into the loft.

 

Isaac's wearing a look of pure amusement. Scott jumps to his feet.

 

"Stiles," Derek moans. It sends an inappropriate jolt straight to Stiles' dick.

 

"Scott, help me get him—"

 

"No," Derek growls, eyes glowing electric blue like he's ingested too much Spice and Stiles is in some bizarre-ass were-version of Dune.

 

Scott stares, slack-jawed, forehead creased in confusion as Derek glares down his almost-alpha.

 

His hand slips up under Stiles' shirt, fingers stroking skin as his other arm wraps around Stiles protectively.

 

Derek hums something unintelligible into Stiles' shoulder, then drags his lips up Stiles' neck.

 

"What happened to him?" Scott asks.

 

"I don't know," Stiles says, trying to shrug out of Derek's grasp. "He was dick-slapped by a tantric tree elf!"

 

"You said you guys had it handled."

 

Stiles puts a hand on Derek's forehead, pushing him back to avoid the embarrassingly messy kiss Derek's angling for. "Yeah, clearly I was mistaken."

 

A peal of laughter rings out. All eyes snap to Isaac. "Deaton said—"

 

"Isaac!" Scott cuts him off. He looks back at Stiles, concerned.

 

"I know," Stiles says, because he _does_ know. Sex magic is _strange._

 

Derek moves behind him, one arm looping around Stiles' waist, mouthing the hair at the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles can feel Derek's hard dick pressed against his ass.

 

"Well, looks like you've got _this_ part covered," Isaac says, wrapping his asshole scarf around his asshole neck and making his way to the door.

 

Scott purses his lips as he takes in the spectacle.

 

Scott's aware of the arousal, both Derek's _and_ Stiles' own. Stiles is past the point of being embarrassed. That part isn't new.

 

Scott knows what'll happen as soon as he leaves, and Stiles isn't sure if Scott's more concerned about his best friend's safety, or his magic-drugged almost-beta's consent.

 

They leave when Derek starts peeling Stiles' clothes off, whimpers of pain escaping him like he's running out of time.

 

Stiles is afraid to move as Derek licks his way down, sucks a kiss into Stiles' hip. His fingers itch to rake through Derek's hair, but he isn't sure what's allowed.

 

Derek nuzzles into the crease of Stiles' thigh, scenting him.

 

"Uh...should we move to the—" Stiles half-gestures toward the couch.

 

"No time," Derek says, voice heavy with pain and apology.

 

Stiles' heart breaks.

 

He drops to Derek's level, kisses him as he undoes the button of his jeans and slides down the zipper.

 

Derek sucks Stiles' lip, desperate, needy, and Stiles aches with something he doesn't even want to consider right now.

 

He pushes Derek onto his back and pulls the rest of his clothes off, taking a second to admire the beautiful body he's fantasized about for so long.

 

"I don't really know what I'm doing."

 

"Don't _care_ , just _do_ it," Derek snaps. And honestly, he's every bit as sexy when he's desperate and dying.

 

"What, like...anything? Because you know I've never done this. I mean, I've done _stuff,_ and I've Googled—"

 

"Stiles!" Derek growls. "Don't make me kill you."

 

Threats are good. Derek's first language is promises of bodily harm, so at least his presence of mind isn't addled.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath and fits himself in the space between Derek's knees. "Really need to work on your pillow talk, buddy."

 

Derek groans as Stiles leans over him and wraps his lips around Derek's dick.

 

He makes a sound that's part relief and part euphoria. It sends another shock of arousal through Stiles.

 

He picks up his speed, fists a hand around the base of Derek's dick to cover what his mouth won't fit, and continues to suck him, sloppy with spit and no finesse, but, _god,_ it's good.

 

Derek presses fingertips to Stiles' shoulders, slides a hand up to his face and drags his thumb along Stiles' stretched bottom lip.

 

The touching is unexpectedly intimate, and Stiles shuts his eyes, forces thoughts of _more_ out of his mind and moans around the dick in his mouth.

 

*

 

He's not sure what time it is when the magic finally ebbs. The sun's rising, golden rays cutting through and striping the room in warmth.

 

"I'm sorry," Derek says, pressing his face in the crook of Stiles' neck. "I didn't want us to start that way."

 

"You...wanted us to...start?" Stiles tries and fails at keeping the hope from his tone.

 

Derek just nods, wraps his arms more tightly around Stiles.

 

* * *

 

 

27.

  **Chosen Trope:** Genderswap

 

Diana first notices the woman because of how she moves because she moves like a predator too, graceful and controlled, every step in the right place. But her gaze sticks because she's _beautiful_ , striking and perfect-looking in a way that Diana's never been able to figure out how to do with her own makeup, no matter how much she tries.

 

The woman notices her back.

 

Diana stumbles and nearly trips over her own feet when the woman waves, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. She closes her eyes briefly and wishes to the moon that she were cooler and smoother, more like Laura.

 

When she opens her eyes, the woman winks.

 

\-- Her name is Kate.

 

Her name is Kate and she is a _lesbian_ and she says it with an easy laugh and a tilt of her head, as if to say, _that's just how things are_ , with none of the cold fear that Diana feels in her chest when she thinks about her family finding out.

 

"I'm not in the closet," she says with a knowing look that makes Diana's heart skip a beat (excitement or fear, she can't tell), "but of course I understand why other people might be."

 

Her nails are the same bright red as her lips.

 

She offers to show Diana how to do her makeup, if she wants to come over some time. To her apartment, just her.

 

Diana can't say yes fast enough.

 

\--

 

Kate guides Diana through perfectly coating her lips with lipstick the same color as fresh blood, then leans in and presses their mouths together.

 

When she leans back and Diana opens her eyes, Kate's mouth is smeared messily with red. The curve of her smile holds their shared secret. She licks her lips. "Do you want to?"

 

Diana's heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, please."

 

Diana thinks she'll drown in the fragrant scent of Kate's shampoo and the more visceral, primal scent of _human_ and being so close to another person. Her entire body vibrates with excitement and eagerness as Kate cups her breasts through her shirt and kisses her again. No one has ever touched her like this before.

 

"Can -- Can I touch you?" she asks and Kate laughs throatily against her mouth.

 

"That's the idea, baby girl," she promises and brings Diana's hands to her breasts. "Have you ever done this before? What do you like?"

 

"Not with anyone else," Diana admits as she draws her hands wonderingly over Kate's body. "I don't know."

 

So Kate teaches her.

 

She takes Diana to bed and kisses her wetly, pressing her tongue into Diana's mouth. Everything Kate does feels electric, making Diana feel like her body's been turned into a live wire.

 

She gasps when Kate dips her hand down the front of her jeans and slips a finger between her lips.

 

Kate chuckles in her ear. "You're so wet for me, Diana," she says, then pushes that finger _inside_ her. She helps Diana struggle out of her pants then brings her hand between Diana's legs again, using skilled, purposeful strokes until her pleasure builds and spills over.

 

Kate waits for Diana to catch her breath, then does it again, over and over until Diana finally feels too wrung out to come again.

 

Diana laughs breathlessly. "You have to show me how to do that," she says.

 

"I will."

 

\--

 

Diana thinks she's in love.

 

That's when everything goes up in flames.

 

* * *

 

 

28.

**Chosen Trope:** Accidentally married

 

Clark Country Clerk's Office, Nevada.

 

They're going to let it expire. It was all just an accident, so instead of staying, they take the road through Albuquerque. They're on their way back to New York now, back to Derek's place, when they pull off on the side of the road. The A/C blows so sharp it hurts on their faces. The music is loud. Garage band music: distortion, lots of cymbals. Sounding the way the great plains look. Stiles' smile has slid down, off of his face, but his hand is still in the front of Scott's jeans. While Stiles sits frozen, Scott is scurrying to unbuckle his seatbelt and throw his seat back.

 

"I—" Stiles almost says before Scott kisses him, gripping him hard by the collar of his shirt, pulling him against his own still-buckled seatbelt. Stiles barely manages to free himself before choking, and as soon as he's untangled from the polyester web, he falls onto Scott, both of them lying back, trying to tuck under the wheel and escape the gearshift.

 

The kiss is dusty, earthen, tasting like tall grass. Like the dirt and fields must be slipping in through the cracks in the car. Getting into everything. Scott's hands are gritty where they ride up beneath Stiles' shirt, pushing it away. It scratches in a pleasant way, like all of Stiles' skin feels shrunken and itchy all of the sudden.

 

Stiles pushes his fingers into Scott's hair, and Scott forces his fingers below Stiles' waistband. They move together, never stopping, each going in his own direction. Scott almost has Stiles all the way on top of him when Stiles' knee catches between the gearshift and the center console. He barks out in pain.

 

"Stop," he says, until Scott grinds up against him, and then he says, "Oh, wait, don't."

 

Scott doesn't. He doesn't need to lead Stiles any further to get them touching, just needs to undo their jeans, and as soon as he does, he moans. The heat of Stiles under his boxers is incredible, feeling like all of the summer in the whole midwest is between Stiles' legs, between their bodies.

 

"Fuck, yeah, buddy," Stiles is mumbling, and Scott is rocking up against him, rhythmless, fighting Stiles' own movements in a struggle that for some reason is working for both of them. Stiles turns his head and catches Scott's lips in a kiss, their hands abandoning whatever balancing positions they'd been holding and hunting for purchase on each other's body.

 

Stiles says, "I'm close," long before he actually finishes, but Scott could believe him, watching him work through the pleasure with this expression of tantalized euphoria until he actually spills himself between their bellies. The slickness gives Scott enough freedom to rut until he finds his own completion, hugging Stiles close to him, even with the mess. After that, they just lay there for a moment. The stillness, silence of the outside is unusual; neither of them feel like they're actually on a roadside.

 

"Let's go back," Scott says quietly. He doesn't look at Stiles, but he looks like he knows that Stiles is looking at him. "Let's just turn around and do it. We've got the license."

 

Stiles lifts up a little, frowning down at Scott. "You serious?" He waits for a moment, but Scott doesn't say anything. "You want to get _married_?" Still nothing. "In _Las Vegas_?"

 

Finally, Scott levels him with one of those looks. "Yes."

 

Heaving out a long breath, Stiles sits the rest of the way up and runs his hand through his hair. Jittery all of the sudden. Possibly smiling, maybe, unless that's the sun in Scott's eyes. "Okay. Okay, yeah." He's grappling for the GPS and re-fastening his pants when he muses distractedly, "Someone should call Derek. Let him know we won't be home on Wednesday."

 

* * *

 

 

29.

**Chosen Trope:** genderswap

 

"I want you to fuck me."

 

Confused, Derek stares at him...her...Shit.

 

"What?"

 

Stiles rolls his eyes--doesn't matter that he's temporarily stuck in a girl's body, he's calling himself he--and strips his top over his head.

 

There's a bra, purple and lacy and with wires that are digging into his boobs, because Lydia dragged him to the mall for clothes and he can never say no to her.

 

"You fucked me two nights ago, you can fuck me now."

 

"Um..."

 

Reaching behind himself, Stiles fiddles with the hooks, twisting the fabric back and forth and turning red in the face. "Jesus, come get me out of this thing. I think the hooks are magically locked or something."

 

"Stiles," Derek begins with a sigh, then stares at the floor. "I can understand you wanting to explore your new body, but..." His face softens a bit, a tiny hint of sadness in his eyes as he lifts them for a moment, "I want the real you."

 

Deflating, Stiles stops tugging on the bra, and kneels on the couch next to his boyfriend. "I'm here, Derek, the real me."

 

Derek flushes and tries to look away, but Stiles catches his chin in small, slender fingers that have purple nails to match the underwear. "I don't...I'm not sure I can," he finally admits.

 

"Can I kiss you?" Suddenly, Stiles gets it. Derek's track record with women is horrible and after Kate...

 

His answer is a shrug of broad shoulders and Stiles sighs, but understands. "Okay. How about this, would you mind if I explored a bit myself?"

 

One of the things Derek loves the most about their sex life is watching Stiles jerk off, and Stiles does know his boyfriend. He's not surprised when interest pops into his hazel eyes and he nods.

 

Smiling, Stiles turns slightly. "I still can't get this damn thing off." Derek laughs, and nimble fingers unhook the bra, leaving shivers on his skin. When he turns back, Derek's relaxing into the corner of the couch, eyes hooded slightly and one hand splayed across his lower stomach. Stiles grins mischievously. "Feel free to give yourself a hand, so to speak."

 

Derek rolls his eyes, but the bulge in his jeans grows just a bit as Stiles flings the bra onto the floor, then reclines back in the other corner of the couch and tugs up his skirt to reveal matching purple panties.

 

Really tiny purple panties.

 

One hand cupping a breast, the thumb rubbing his nipple, he uses the other to wriggle the panties down to his knees and spreads his legs as wide was he can.

 

The bulge in Derek's jeans grows.

 

Stiles licks his lips, then his finger, and experimentally places it at the top of his cleft. It's moist, warm, soft, and when he presses down, a tingle of pleasure goes through him. He's watched a lot of porn but he's never touched a girl outside of kissing and a bit of groping through clothes.

 

This is really different.

 

Eyes fixed on Derek's face, he slides his finger down and back up, again and again, swirling the tip around what has to be his clit because it's swelling and feels so good. He's getting wetter, his nipples hardening as he plays with them. Finally, he moves two fingers down to where the wetness is coming from and awkwardly pushes in.

 

It's tight and hot.

 

"Do you like it?" Derek asks, voice husky, eyes dark, and his cock is fully erect and trapped.

 

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, "But, I want to see you, too. Take it out, fuck your hand." His voice rises to a squeal as his fingers touch some spot inside himself that has him jerking and shoving in a third as his thumb presses hard to his clit. "Oh, shit, shit, shit!"

 

As he babbles, he watches Derek pull out his hard cock, watches him strip it fast, pre-cum dripping over his fingers. Stiles' hips bounce a bit. He abandons his tits and shoves a fourth finger into his cunt, fucking himself on them as his free fingers pinch his clit.

 

He comes, a huge shudder of pleasure and heat and wetness. Muscles he didn't know girls had clench around his fingers and he gasps and pants for air, sweat rolling down between and beneath his breasts.

 

Wow.

 

As Stiles collapses, Derek comes hard into his hand, and murmurs, "Do it again."

 

Stiles' fingers thrust...

 

* * *

 

 

30.

**Chosen Trope:** Time Travel

 

Stiles is standing in an ‘x’ made of runes, the glow fading rapidly, and he doesn’t recognize this particular patch of earth at all.

 

_Of-fucking-course_.

 

+

 

He’s gone thirteen years in the wrong direction according to the hunting signs posted all around him. Brilliant. There’s a hole in his shoe near the heel because he hadn’t expected to be hoofing it through a goddamn forest when he’d woken up that morning.

 

He finds a road, sticks out a thumb. There’s a rock in his other shoe and he’s sweating like he’s got a glandular issue by the time a pick-up pulls over. A dark-skinned guy with incredibly white teeth leans across the console, asks, “Where you going?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “In the direction of red meat, which I figure I can get no matter which compass point you’re chasing.”

 

The guy squints, shrugs back, opens the door for him.

 

They stop at the third burger joint they pass. Stiles doesn’t have his wallet on him—of course—and the guy—the ‘A.J. works’ guy—sticks a fry in his face and declares, “I don’t think I’m going to like you.”

 

Which Stiles decides is mostly fair. He’s already—accidentally, it should be noted—scammed him out of gas and seven bucks worth of burger and fries. Still, he feels compelled to say, “You should definitely wait to get to know me to dislike me, fair shake and all.”

 

A.J. grins, leg bent at the knee and up on the booth next to him. He kind of _sprawls_. The way he tends to sit with his legs open makes Stiles think about his dick.

 

A lot.

 

He thinks it’s malicious because the guy _has_ to know it.

 

+

 

They stop at a motel when the sun starts to set. A.J. says that since he’s ‘paying for this shit’ he’s not springing for an extra room or two twins.

 

Stiles shrugs, doesn’t ask questions even though he wants to. He knows why _he’s_ nomadic. His home doesn’t even _exist_ yet, but A.J. is more of an enigma.

 

A.J. takes the shower, walks back out wet – his slight fro with water droplets clinging to it, and Stiles catches a glimpse of his back. Black ink covers it, runes that Stiles recognizes, that he knows are real are etched into his dark skin. It’s fucking hot and Stiles should be booking it as fast as he can in the other direction, instead he licks his lower lip and isn’t subtle about spreading his legs.

 

A.J. notices, likes it if the look in his eyes is any indication, and drops the towel. Stiles wants to drop right with it because that is a dick that deserves to be _sucked_.

 

Instead he shifts his hips up off the dresser, asks with a smirk, “Disliking me doesn’t stop you wanting to get a hand down my pants?”

 

A.J. taps his temple. “My mind has standards. My dick, however.” He trails off with a white grin in his dark face and he’s as hard as Stiles is.

 

+

 

He smokes something after. Heroin maybe. Doesn’t offer Stiles any and Stiles stretches out on the bed, muscles rippling, sore in all the right places. He’s traveling with a guy who’s clearly bent on self-destruction, nothing more than a bomb waiting to explode.

 

Stiles decides to enjoy it for as long as he can.

 

+

 

They order the greasiest looking pizza in the book and A.J.’s shaving in the bathroom when it arrives, hollers for Stiles to get money out of his wallet. Stiles does, catches sight of the driver’s license and falls back a step, the twenty dropping to the floor. The delivery guy shoves the pizza at him, snatches up the bill with some angry muttering. Stiles lets out a disbelieving little laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

A.J. walks out, smoothing a hand over his chin, wraps the other around Stiles’ waist. “Problem?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, puts the wallet down, closes the flap over the name:

 

_Alan Jay Deaton_.

 

A.J.— _Deaton_ —fucks him again after the pizza’s gone, mouth greasy and eyes eager.

 

+

 

Stiles wakes up on Deaton’s exam table. Deaton’s there, staring down at a clipboard and he pretends not to care when he notices Stiles is awake.

 

Stiles feels groggy and his voice sticks. “A.J.?” he says, wanting or accusing or— _something_.

 

Deaton’s mouth curves into a familiar smirk. “Stiles,” he answers.

 

Stiles returns it. “You’re a damn, dirty liar. You liked me just fine.”

 

Deaton laughs.

 

* * *

 

31.

  **Chosen Trope:** aliens made them do it

 

“What on Earth?”

 

Stiles was awoken by a bright white light shining into the window, bright enough it cast his room into shades of blue. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn’t in the bestiary or obviously a hunter.

 

There was a faint mechanical whirring sound, like a faraway motor, and a thickly layered smell of ozone, and all Stiles could do was think, ‘Am I getting enough air?’ before he found himself being lifted up by some sort of tractor beam and dragged away into the light.

 

#

 

Stiles abruptly jerked into consciousness. He was on a cot, with a tiny pillow and a thin sheet, in a brightly lit white-gray box of a small, square room. For the first time in his life, he was absolutely at a loss what to think or do. What was supposed to be happening here? He had no frame of reference, and he was _freezing_.

 

A section of wall slid away and, surprise of surprises, Danny was tossed in with him. Stiles was so astonished at this, he didn’t even try to escape, just gaped at him. Danny laboriously got to his feet and loomed over the still speechless Stiles.

 

“I think the aliens took us because we’re not werewolves.”

 

“Wha- How do you know about werewolves?”

 

“Stiles. You and Scott are not quiet in class; you talk about it all the time. The shit you get into isn’t exactly stealthy,” Danny exasperatedly replied. “And scoot over, bed hog.”

 

Stiles managed to move over and let Danny sit beside him.

 

“So . . . aliens then?” Stiles cracked up, “Are they big eyed and into anal probes?”

 

His laughter trailed off at Danny’s flinch.

 

“Fuck.”

 

#

 

At an indeterminate time later, they’re taken to a large circular room that reminded Stiles uncomfortably of an operating theatre.

 

The metal table they’re deposited on was heated and gave off a slight tingly feeling. Danny closed his eyes and just laid there. Stiles was taking the opportunity to look around, acting freaked out, trying to scope out the room.

 

He couldn’t really see over the glare of the lights, but he could tell there were lots of aliens filling up the observation booths. He couldn’t tell what they aliens actually looked like, the ones in the room with them only looked like the stories because of some sort of hazmat suit.

 

The tingle was becoming stronger and Stiles breathed through the panic at his heart rate involuntarily increasing. Sure enough, he was growing hard. The smell in the air changed and Stiles started to ache. He could hear Danny panting, trying to hold off for as long as he could and that helped him stay focused a little.

 

The tingle was so strong now he was starting to go numb a bit. He could hear movement from the room behind him and knew that they would have to put their plan into motion soon if they didn’t want to be ‘encouraged.’

 

Danny whispered, “Now, Stiles,” and turned his body to face Stiles. Stiles checked Danny’s face for any sign that the plan had changed, and when Danny nodded, leaned in, closed his eyes and kissed him.

 

Stiles kept his eyes shut the entire time Danny fucked him. Even with the electro-shock table, he didn’t think he could perform if he had to see the theatre as well as hear it.

 

#

 

“Well, they didn’t expect that,” Danny finally said, after a long moment passed with them alone in the cell.

 

“Hm, really?” Stiles asked. His eyes were still shut.

 

“Yeah, they act like we’re ants, not autonomous in our own right. Clearly, they’ve never put anyone together friendly enough to plot to have sex before they made them.”

 

“Did you get the device?”

 

“Yeah, I did. Stiles . . . are you going to be okay?”

 

Stiles opened his eyes at that, “Yeah, just, I’m trying to tamp down the trauma long enough to be useful. I can panic when we escape, you know?”

 

Danny clasped his shoulder in commiseration, “Come on, escape and therapy awaits.”

 

Stiles snorted and got up as Danny got the door open.

 

“Lead on, fearless leader.”

 

* * *

 

32.

  **Chosen Trope:** college au: sorority au

 

Erica shivered as the giant doors opened and the president of ABO strode in. Lydia Martin- part brilliance, part cunning, and all presence. Erica was convinced she was the only person who could just stride into a sorority house, cute romper and matching strap-on, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it was- so far rush hadn't really discouraged that notion.

 

Lydia climbed the stairs her stilettos clicking, taking in all the new pledges in their matching white undergarments. Tradition was important after all, and she wasn't about to let initiation change- not when it promised her first pick among the pledges. Cora, her VP, was finishing up the speech. Usually Lydia would give it, but Cora was taking over next semester, and she was happy to push off all the boring parts of her position.

 

She knew whom she'd be taking in front of everyone, and Erica knew it too. That didn't mean she wasn't going to mess with the other pledges' heads though. She paused behind Allison, and shooting her treasurer Kira a smirk, she said, "Take off your bra pledge."

 

Allison did, and Lydia thumbed her nipples before moving on to slap another pledge's ass. It was a heady feeling, knowing she could take anyone here and they wouldn't protest. She could have them run around the house naked, or film themselves or-

 

Lydia found herself behind Erica suddenly, and she wasn't surprised her feet had brought her here. She found herself extra pleased with her heels- at five inches and with Erica slightly bent, for once she was a bit taller.

 

"Ready for me Reyes?" she asked, not bothering with the official phrasing.

 

Erica's back arched delightfully, and she didn't hold back a smirk as all the other people watched her, "I am."

 

Lydia pushed the white cotton panties down to her knees, and let her bra tangle between her wrists. They weren't actual restraints of course, but she liked the image. The reminder that later tonight Erica would probably be tied down to her bed and covered with whipped cream and strawberries.

 

Her right hand slipped between Erica's pale thighs, stroking up against her lips, "Already wet for me? What a good little strumpet."

 

Erica pushed her hips back, and Lydia's free hand tweaked her nipples, "I knew you'd be perfect for this Reyes. Such a little show-off, just begging to get bent over the nearest surface."

 

The blonde moaned at her words, and she strongly remembered they weren't alone as the pledge to her right- Braeden- put her hand on top of hers on the banister. Erica gave her a thankful smile that turned into a high-pitched moan when Lydia slammed her dildo into her abruptly. On her left side Malia covered her other hand, and she absently thought she'd have to buy them ice cream or something, because she couldn't imagine keeping her hands on the banister without them. Her fingers itched to pull Lydia's hips closer, to weave into her red curls, to drag her face in for a filthy kiss.

 

Lydia's grip loosened on Erica's hip as her hand moved in to flick at her clit, and she teased, "Louder Reyes, I don't think the frat across the way can hear you."

 

Erica flushed as she obeyed, wondering if people out on the quad could hear her. She stopped wondering when Lydia's finger dragged around the base of the dildo, her fingertip brushing against her labia.

 

"So wet and hungry for it Reyes... I bet you could take my fingers too, couldn't you?" she asked with her thumb pressing in beside the dildo before Erica could reply.

 

A strangled moan broke past Erica's lips, and she bent over sharply, her breasts getting pushed into the banister. She didn't care though, this angle was perfection and the extra finger didn't seem like too much anymore. So of course Lydia, all-knowing Lydia, decided to push in another finger. She isn't thrusting the dildo much any more, she's just gently rocking it in and out with her fingers, and Erica looses count of how many fingers are in her. All she knows is that she's so gloriously full.

 

Lydia's other hand comes down to play with her clit, a sudden shocking pleasure and Erica comes with a scream. When she comes back down it's slowly, and she can hear her new sisters and the pledges whispering. She basks in the attention and sits in Lydia's lap while Cora goes next.

 

* * *

 

33.

  **Chosen Trope:** In Vino Veritas, Pining

 

Bourbon splashes on Derek's fingers when the tumbler begins to slip from Chris' hand.

 

He's come to love the smoky, bitter scent of Chris' favorite drink. It's familiar, a balm to soothe old wounds that may never fully heal.

 

Derek takes a sip. The burn of alcohol fades until only earthy sweetness remains, soft and thick like liquid velvet on Derek's tongue.

 

"I think it's time for me to go."

 

"Not yet." Chris reaches for him. "Stay."

 

He lets himself be caught by Chris' clumsy attempt to grab his wrist.

 

The truth is, Derek doesn't want to leave. He'd rather soak up the warmth and affection that radiate from Chris after a few drinks.

 

They've been dancing around each other for months, ever since Chris chose Derek's life over his own sister's.

 

Derek aches to lean in and see if bourbon tastes just as smooth on Chris' tongue.

 

But a Hale and an Argent?

 

It's a fool's dream.

 

No amount of time spent together in the quiet comfort of Chris' living room will ever change that.

 

Derek squeezes Chris' hand and gets up to leave.

 

When Chris falls back against the pillows, Derek lifts his feet up onto the couch and covers him with a throw. Chris' breathing evens out and Derek can't resist rubbing a thumb across his temple in a gentle caress.

 

"Goodnight, Chris."

 

"'Night. Love you," Chris murmurs in response.

 

Derek freezes.

 

When Chris meets Derek's gaze, he looks startled by his own admission, but his eyes are clear and fever-bright in the waning firelight.

 

"I—" Chris clears his throat and pushes himself upright. "I didn't mean it to come out that way."

 

Derek's shoulders sag and he turns to leave.

 

Hearing what he already knows to be true doesn't lessen the blow.

 

"Wait," Chris says. He approaches Derek with careful hesitance, like the hunter he was raised to be.

 

Derek doesn't move an inch.

 

Chris' heart beats steady and true when he slides a hand around Derek's neck. The first press of their lips is gentle, searching. For once, Derek wonders if Chris has been holding back for _his_ sake.

 

Derek is tired of the uncertainty.

 

An out is the last thing he wants.

 

He pushes his tongue inside Chris' mouth, moaning when Chris grabs the back of his head and angles for control. Rough fingertips slide under Derek's shirt, leaving trails of fire where they drag against his skin.

 

They tear at each other's clothing, then stumble naked toward the couch. Chris settles between Derek's legs and his eyes roam over Derek's body while he strokes his own dick.

 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Derek reaches for Chris. He needs Chris' hands, mouth, _anything_ on him.

 

"I didn't want to fuck this up." Chris spits into his palm and takes their cocks in his fist.

 

Derek gasps at the too-dry, perfect friction of skin on skin. "And now?"

 

"Now that I know I can have you—" Chris leans forward and kisses him, all wet heat and bourbon-sweet tongue. "I want to take my time."

 

A rush of warmth floods Derek's body.

 

"Want to take you to bed, put my mouth on you," he whispers against Derek's lips.

 

Their bodies are so close, the wet tip of Derek's dick bumps against Chris' stomach when his hips jerk.

 

"I'll spread you open, get you so wet." Chris teases the head of Derek's dick with his calloused thumb. "Put my fingers in you."

 

Derek _wants_. Wants Chris to lick him open until he's stretched and dripping wet, to hear Chris' gravelly voice in his ear, teeth at Derek's throat, while Derek rides his fingers.

 

"Fuck," he whispers. Derek never thought they could have this; he's shaking with how badly he needs it.

 

"Mhmm," Chris hums, hand moving faster. "It's been a long time since I fucked a man."

 

Derek groans, deep and needy.

 

"I can't wait to get inside of you."

 

One more twist of Chris' wrist and Derek is gone. He shudders through it, ass clenching around nothing, imagining Chris pushing into him. Chris slides his dick through the mess on Derek's stomach, finding his own release soon after.

 

Derek rubs their come into his skin as they catch their breath, then pulls the blanket over them. They kiss until the fire is down to embers, cocooned in darkness.

 

"I meant it." Chris nuzzles his stubbled cheek against Derek's. "All of it."

 

Derek shivers but he's anything but cold.

 

"I know," he answers. "Me too."

 

* * *

 

34.

**Chosen Trope:** Huddle for warmth

 

The storm rages on outside and even if Scott hadn’t seen the warlock in the midst of the spell, he’d know it was unnatural from its sheer ferocity. Snow is battering against the window, blocking out most of the light. They’ve rolled up he cabin’s rug to seal up the gap under the door, taken the sheets off the twin bed and ripped them into strips to seal around window panes. But the cold seeps in anyway, even if snowflakes don’t. There’s no firewood. Not enough blankets.

 

Stiles looks so pale his skin could be crystal, lips thinned out and off-white instead of their usual startling pink. His teeth make a persistent chatter as he paces around the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets and legs bouncing listlessly with every step. Scott tried to get him to stop and smother himself in the blankets, but Stiles refused. If Scott was up researching a solution, he was up debating that solution. Scott doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he lost cellphone signal forty-five minutes ago.

 

“I can’t anymore,” is all he says, collapsing onto the bed. “You shouldn’t either. C’mere. It’ll be like old times. Remember the Millennium Falcon you insisted on making? How we had to squish together? How mom only just stopped herself from screaming when she saw we’d used every sheet and blanket in the house?”

 

Scott remembers it vividly. It’d only been three years ago. His mom had ranted at him for weeks about him being too old for it, too old for Stiles, until he appeased her by saying he’d get a job in the summer to pay for two blue sheets they destroyed. Mom has never once questioned his friendship with Stiles since. Actually, she held him tight and said she loved him last month. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.

 

“We don’t have enough material to work with,” Stiles says, tossing a hand out, voice jagged and hoarse.

 

“Squish with me anyway,” Scott cajoles, wiggling around in what he hopes is an enticing manner.

 

It must be, because Stiles rolls his eyes and settles by his side anyway. The bed’s not big enough. They need to tangle themselves up. Scott brings one of his legs up so Stiles is nestled in the vee, curls his hands over his waist and drags him tight. He helps Stiles adjust the blankets so they’re tucked tightly around them. Stiles’ back is strong and solid against his chest, his neck is right there, and Scott can’t stop himself from kissing the smooth, cold skin.

 

“What’s that for?”

 

Scott could say so many things; _for staying with me every step of the way, for caring about me when so few cared, for being my always, being my everything._

 

But he shrugs, hooks his head over Stiles’ shoulder. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s starting to get warmer.

 

“You think we’re gonna die this time?” Stiles asks, the words stark in air.

 

“No,” Scott replies. It’s better than ‘I don’t know’.

 

“If we don’t, I’d like you to pretend the following conversation never happens,” Stiles says, tilting his head so his cheek glances against Scott’s lips.

 

“I can do that.”

 

“I think about us doing the do, constantly,” Stiles says, hushed voice at complete odds with his words. “I think about swerving on that, frick fracking, engaging in hanky panky--”

 

“I get the picture,” Scott says on a laugh.

 

“You’re not freaking out?”

 

“Why should I? What, you thought I’d be like, ‘You think about us doing something that’d give us both joy and satisfaction? You’re revolting, I want nothing to do with you’?”

 

“But that’s not how friendship works. And you don’t feel the same. And I’m talking constant, Scott, like right now.”

 

Scott grins and presses another kiss to Stiles’ skin, this time at the edge of his jaw. “Why can’t friendship work that way? And who said I don’t feel the same? And really, you wanna? Might be a good method for warming up.”

 

Stiles shudders and for a second Scott worries, before Stiles is grinding back into him and moving his hand to press it under his shirt. Scott traces his happy trail, imagines licking down it and nuzzling into the base of Stiles’ cock. He explores with the pads of his fingers instead, touching Stiles like he’s never gotten to before.

 

The storm rages on outside and Scott ignores it, concentrating on the storm raging in his heart.

 

* * *

 

35.

**Chosen Trope:** Royalty AU

 

“This one,” the voice said, and Stiles had to avoid flinching at the softness of the single finger covered in lambskin that slid down his cheek. “I’ll take this one.”

 

It was hard, keeping his head down to avoid the gaze of his new owner, and he had nearly succeeded until another voice cut in through the heavy air.

 

“Not him, Uncle.”

 

At the familiar voice, Stiles’ head snapped up before he could help himself, and the steely green-grey gaze of the kingdom’s new ruler sent shivers down his spine.

 

His eyes unmoving from Stiles’ face, Derek Hale lifted a single eyebrow at the first muttered word of protest from Peter. “Are you questioning my decision, Uncle?”

 

“No, Your Majesty,” Peter said bitterly, after a long pause. “I shall return soon to pick out another lackey, then,” he nodded towards the slave master, who then tipped his head in acquiescence before he bowed to Derek and left the building.

 

“Will you be taking this one then, Sire?”

 

Derek blatantly dragged his eyes down Stiles’ body and back up, uncaring of the rising blush in Stiles’ cheeks, and nodded once.

 

“Have him sent to my castle. Immediately,” he ordered, before walking away without a single backwards glance.

 

+++

 

“What _happened_ to you?” Derek asked quietly, his mouth wet and open against the skin of Stiles’ neck, warm in the safety of his bedchambers. “Who did it? Are you hurt?”

 

“I’m okay, I swear on my father’s life,” Stiles’ hands couldn’t seem to stop running from the thick muscle of Derek’s bare shoulders to his broad back, where the dark ink of his tattoo had been marred with scars. “If anything, I should be asking _you_ these things.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Derek pulled away so he could look into Stiles’ eyes. “How’s your father? I could have him transferred to the castle, make sure he’s safe too.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “You would do that for me?”

 

“Of course I would, silly,” Derek ducked in to nip Stiles’ bottom lip gently, enjoying the way the smaller boy’s hips stuttered up into his. “You are the most important thing in my life, and by extension, so is your father and his comfort. I can set up a small cottage and a garden, so he can continue caring for his herbs and his spices.”

 

“Thank you,” Stiles said earnestly, his eyes abruptly filling with tears. “I… We would be dead, or worse, without you, and I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

“I was happy to do it,” Derek said simply, running a hand through Stiles’ hair tenderly and pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s been too long since we had this.”

 

“I have missed you,” Stiles replied, his eyes shining ardently as he shifted so he was straddling Derek’s lap. “There would be nights where I didn’t know if you were coming back for me.”

 

Derek caught Stiles’ mouth in a sharp, bruising kiss, relishing in the gasp Stiles’ let out, his fingers twisting in the thick strands of Derek’s hair. “I will always come for you,” he told him fiercely. “Always.”

 

“Yeah?” the corners of Stiles’ mouth turned up into a wicked smirk, and Derek felt a rush of fondness for his consort. “Prove it.”

 

* * *

 

36.

**Chosen Trope:** College/Frat boys AU

 

"You called me down for a pissing contest?" Derek scowls at everyone. "I have an exam tomorrow."

 

Boyd, giving no shits, shrugs. "The pot's $475."

 

"Ew!" Scott scrunches his nose. "There's no _pissing_."

 

"The rules," Danny says, waving his tape measure. "First years -- Scott, Stiles, Jackson -- vs upper years -- Isaac, Boyd, you. Cumulative length."

 

Eyeing the living room full of idiots, Derek sighs. Boyd's going to owe him for this. "Hard?"

 

"Hard as you can make it, big boy," Stiles says, then he fucking winks. "Or I guess we'll see about the big boy part." Not for the first time, Derek regrets ever letting him pledge for their fraternity.

 

"Jesus," Derek hisses, tossing a glare at Boyd.

 

"I need the money, man." Boyd's face holds no guilt.

 

Derek shakes his head, cursing ever going to college. "Fine, I'm in."

 

Stiles is grinning at him. It takes up half his face and is mildly unsettling. This is such a bad idea.

 

Danny lines them up facing each other in pairs, saying it's easier for measuring but there's a mischievous gleam in his eye. Derek understands when he sees who he's paired with; Stiles' jaw is blotchy pink as he steps up.

 

"Pants around your ankles, boxers on 'till you call measure," Jackson says. "No homo."

 

Stiles whispers, " _So much_ homo." Derek's stomach clenches.

 

He slips a hand into his boxerbriefs. There's trash talking going on to his left between Jackson and Boyd, fuck-me-eyes to his right between Isaac and Scott.

 

"Blow your load before you get measured and you forfeit," Jackson reminds Isaac, who's panting something fierce already.

 

"Measure!" Isaac squeaks, and Danny hustles over. Scott calls it right after.

 

"Firsties in the lead by a quarter inch."

 

"Not for long," Boyd says. "Measure me."

 

Danny whistles, Jackson curses and Derek grins. No surprise there; he's shared a dorm with Boyd for years.

 

"Upper years in the lead," Danny announces..

 

Derek smirks at Stiles. "You'd better hope Jackson's wallet's deeper than his dick's long."

 

"Feeling _cocky_ , Hale?" Stiles' eyes trail downwards, mouth parting as he watches Derek's hand work.

 

"You can back out now, Stilinski," Derek says as Stiles' cheeks get a little ruddier. "Save face."

 

"What, you planning to aim at my face?" Stiles is gnawing his lip like he's thinking about it. When they head to Jungle, Stiles is like this, drunk enough to flirt shamelessly with Derek. Derek never lets himself be drunk enough to flirt back.

 

He feels drunk now. He struggles to focus as Stiles just keeps staring, like he's mesmerized. It's a fight to remember where they are.

 

"You can keep looking, but it's not getting any smaller," Derek says to break the tension. But it comes out too breathy.

 

"I'm waiting for it to get bigger. That's hardly a mouthful." Stiles grins. "I have big mouth."

 

Does he ever. Derek needs to stop staring at it. Looking lower isn't any better. Derek can see the the outline of the thick shaft as Stiles rubs himself through the cotton of his Batman boxers. The tent he's got going looks like it wants to send the batsignal into orbit.

 

"Son of a bitch." Derek's pretty sure the firsties knew they had a fucking ringer on their team.

 

"Jesus, Stiles," Isaac shouts, "you got a flagpole in there?"

 

"Is 475 divisible by 3?" Scott asks.

 

When Stiles adjusts himself, the full crown of his dick pokes out from his waistband. Derek may have pictured a time or twenty how he'd like Stiles' perfect snarky mouth stuffed full of his dick, but instantly his fantasy's reversed.

 

If either of them call measure now, he's lost. There's only one way to win this.

 

Derek strips off his shirt. "Hot in here." Boyd snickers from somewhere behind him.

 

Stiles goes pinker. "Asshole." He eyes Derek's chest, like he always does, hungry -- so much hungrier now that he knows the show's for him. Derek wishes they were alone.

 

But Boyd really does need the money. So Derek steps forward, hand slipping around Stiles' neck. Brushing Stiles' ear with his lips, he whispers, "Bet you'd choke me with that beast."

 

"Shit." Stiles gasps. "Measu--"

 

But it's too late. Derek feels Stiles' jizz shoot up his abs, a hot splash hitting his cheek.

 

Stiles grins, embarrassed and adorable. "Don't think your stupid face has looked any better."

 

Ignoring the exchange of money in the background, Derek pulls Stiles into a kiss. Boyd's welcome to Derek's share anyway.

 

* * *

 

37.

**Chosen Trope:** Sex pollen.

 

It started with Pandora's Box, or so they'd say afterwards: an old wooden box with elegant engravings.

 

Despite Derek's warning, Isaac couldn't help but crack the lid open. A smell like something wild and untamed tickled his nose and he sneezed hard enough to drop the container. As it landed on the floor, a fine, silvery powder rose up into the air, dancing in the faint moonlight.

 

“Isaac!”

 

“Oops.”

 

~~~

 

“Dude. Are you scenting me?”

 

Blushing hard, Isaac shook his head. “Don't be stupid.”

 

~~~

 

“What's wrong with you?” Derek growled when Scott bumped into him for the third time.

 

“I'm . . . dizzy.”

 

“Me too,” Isaac agreed.

 

“Told you not to open that box,” Derek sighed. “Or sniff that dust.”

 

“But it smelled so nice.”

 

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

 

“Or the werewolf,” Isaac snickered. Slumping against Scott's side pushed him against Derek's chest and trapped the Alpha between his Betas. “You smell nice, too. Both of you.”

 

“Don't dare scent me,” Derek growled. “I'm serious.”

 

Isaac nosed Scott's hair instead.

 

~~~

 

“What do you mean, 'strong stimulant?'”

 

“Do you really need me to elaborate?” Deaton raised his eyebrows, nodding infinitesimally towards Scott and Isaac, who were trying to perfect the art of dry humping in public.

 

“They'll be the death of me one day,” Derek scowled.

 

“Maybe they shouldn't be left alone in case they're incapable of suppressing their urges.”

 

“I'll see to it."

 

“You weren't exposed?”

 

He gave a noncommittal answer and his eyes flashed blue.

 

~~~

 

Derek kept trying to separate them, but when they trapped him, grinding their erections into him, he snapped.

 

~~~

 

Isaac drowned in the thrill of a cock in his mouth and two fingers working his ass open. A desire stronger and purer than anything he thought was humanly possible vibrated through him, and it had him flying high like a kite.

 

Or maybe he lost his mind because of the jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine with every brush over his prostate.

 

Moaning around Derek's cock triggered a chain reaction of involuntary jerks, resulting in a deeper penetration on both ends. Too soon, cum hit the back of Isaac's throat. He swallowed on reflex, the intensity of taste and smell and touch enough to drive him over the edge, too.

 

~~~

 

Scott fucked him nice and slow, with smooth thrusts, almost as if he was afraid Isaac might break. It was sweet, the best first time Isaac could have wished for, and it left him blissful.

 

Derek fucked him hard, slammed into him until Isaac was on the verge of wolf, and when his cum mixed with Scott's, Isaac couldn't hold back a howl. It left him with a carpet burn and a fierce ache for more.

 

~~~

 

The shower was a tight fit, but they found ways to save space, none of which necessarily furthered cleaning up.

 

~~~

 

Isaac hadn't known true lust until Derek's tongue did unspeakable things to him; Scott watched from the couch, bottom lip sucked in, hands busy in his lap.

 

Too many orgasms into the night, Isaac consisted only of broken whimpers and uncontrolled shivers, but it wasn't enough, not even remotely.

 

“Scott . . . need you.”

 

Scott shook his head. “Not quite ready for you yet,” he said with a lascivious grin. He spread his legs further and canted his hips, granting Isaac a good view of his own fingers sliding in and out of his ass.

 

“Oh God, please!”

 

~~~

 

Scott was hot and tight and too fucking amazing to last. Isaac tried, he really did, but the obscenities Derek nipped into his skin weren't actually helpful.

 

~~~

 

Despite his previous resistance, Derek was surprisingly receptive to the boys’ combined persuasion. They opened him up together, fingers dancing inside him, tongues and lips fighting over who was to suck him in deep. Isaac won that battle; claiming was an Alpha's right, anyway.

 

~~~

 

“Well-fucked” didn't begin to describe their condition. The sun stood high, but no one bothered to close the curtains; cuddled up, they drifted to sleep, the tang of ecstasy still heavy in the air.

 

* * *

 

38.

**Chosen Trope:** Snowed in, Strip Poker, Truth or Dare

 

Isaac sticks around long enough for Allison’s funeral, then says good-bye to the McCalls before asking Chris to take him to London. He can’t stay in Beacon Hills anymore.

 

~*~

 

London’s a big city with lots of people. It should mean there are several packs for Isaac to choose from. Which, naturally, is how he ends up in Jackson Whittemore’s pack.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lahey?” is the first thing Jackson says, when he sees Isaac for the first time.

 

“Fuck you,” Isaac replies.

 

His new alpha smirks, and Isaac thinks he might just like it here after all.

 

~*~

 

They aren’t friends. At all. But...at first, Jackson’s the only one Isaac knows. His scent’s familiar and strangely calming. So he sticks close, and Jackson lets him.

 

Then one day two newly-turned betas decide it’d be fun to lock Isaac in a closet, after they get wind of his past. He’s in the midst of a full blown panic attack when Jackson steps in, beats the shit out of them both, and promises they won’t be breathing next time, if they ever try that again.

 

Neither acknowledge what happened, but from that point on, things are different between them.

 

~*~

 

London’s hit with an unexpected blizzard mid-February, leaving Isaac stranded at Jackson’s with no power.

 

“We’ve got a deck of cards. Poker?” Isaac suggests. It’s been hours and they’re running out of things to do. Plus, he’s awesome at poker.

 

For a moment, Jackson just stares at him, before smirking. “Wanna make this a little more interesting?”

 

“How?”

 

“Strip poker.”

 

And oh, if that’s what Jackson wants, then it is _so_ on. He’s got this in the bag.

 

~*~

 

As it turns out, Jackson sucks at poker.

 

“Fuck. It’s time for a new game.”

 

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re losing.”

 

Jackson’s in nothing but his socks and a pair of boxers, while Isaac’s still mostly clothed. “Fuck off.”

 

Isaac smirks. But a grumpy Jackson’s an insufferable one, and since Isaac’s stuck here for who knows how long, he figures it might be wise to pick another game.

 

“Whatever. D’you know Gin Rum--”

 

“Truth or Dare.”

 

“What, are we twelve now?” Isaac snorts.

 

“You chose the last game. My house, my rules.”

 

Isaac tries and fails not to roll his eyes.

 

“You scared?”

 

“For fuck’s-- _fine_. Truth or dare?”

 

But Jackson’s shaking his head. “Nope, I’m starting. Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare.”

 

“I dare you to strip down to your boxers, too.”

 

“What? Just because you’re terrible at poker--”

 

“This isn’t up for debate, Lahey. Shut up and strip down.” He gestures towards Isaac.

 

Isaac glares, but eventually complies. He leaves his scarf on, though, just to piss Jackson off. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

 

Jackson smirks. “Truth.”

 

Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up. “You know I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying, right?”

 

“Just ask.”

 

“Ever had sex with a guy before?”

 

“No.”

 

“You ever wanted to?”

 

“That’s two questions, and no.”

 

It’s almost imperceptible, but Isaac catches the uptick of his heartbeat, and feels a sense of glee when he squeals, “That’s a lie.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Isaac smirks, can’t stop himself from saying, “Apparently you’d like to.”

 

Which turns out to be a bad idea. Jackson tackles him to the ground, turning it into a wrestling match. Until Isaac ends up pinned underneath Jackson, their bodies flush against each other. They’re hot, panting, and Isaac can’t help it...his body reacts. What he doesn’t expect is the hard press of Jackson’s erection against _his_ thigh.

 

Neither move for a long moment before, “Truth or dare?”

 

Isaac blinks. “What?”

 

“Truth. Or. Dare?” Jackson growls.

 

Isaac can’t think straight, but hears himself say, “Dare” because he’s sure that’s what Jackson wants him to say.

 

“I dare you to let me blow you.”

 

Isaac gapes, then nods. Jackson scoots down, settling between Isaac’s thighs, and tugs his boxers down enough to free his fully hard cock. Jackson takes the head of Isaac’s cock into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the slit, then swallows him down, fingers digging into Isaac’s hips.

 

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Isaac gasps, fingers threading into Jackson’s hair and tugging. Hard. Jackson moans, takes him deeper, and Isaac knows he’s not going to last long. All it takes is for Jackson to finger his balls and Isaac’s coming down his throat with a groan.

 

Jackson pulls off, tugging him in for a hard kiss.

 

“Truth or dare?” Isaac asks, when they separate.

 

Jackson grins. “Dare.”

 

“I dare you to fuck me.”

 

* * *

 

39.

**Chosen Trope:** Reincarnation/Immortality, vampire

 

_The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling_

 

The breath _whomped_ out of Stiles as Derek pushed him against the wall.

 

“You smell like death.”

 

“You're hardly the poster boy for personal hygiene yourself,” Stiles snarled back at him, but it was a lie. Derek smelled fantastic. It wasn't even the rich coppery blood running just under the skin – Stiles could practically _see_ it running under Derek's skin – but he just smelled of the forest, of _life_.

 

Derek stepped back and looked at Stiles, up and down, eyes flashing red. Stiles just let his teeth show, just a little. Derek turned and fled out of the window. Stiles fumbled a hand into his trousers, shuddering.

 

~~~

 

They meet again. Stiles isn't sure who's following who any more.

 

~~~

 

They play the myths versus truths game one night, wishing they could both get drunk.

 

“Blood, and sun true. Immortal, true. Healing, assuming I've got access to blood, true. That's about it.”

 

“That sucks,” Derek said. “I've got everything – healing, super senses, strength...”

 

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Hey, does this mean I can come to you for a top up?”

 

“You mean – bite me?”

 

“Yeah, I mean – not all the time. Just sometimes, when I'm running low.”

 

Derek shrugged. “Sure.”

 

~~~

 

Turns out, werewolf drug is _amazing_.

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles slurred, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Derek pulled his wrist back, the skin already starting to close around the puncture wounds. “Its like being drunk. Fucking, amazing,” Stiles sighed, closing his eyes.

 

Derek shivered.

 

~~~ It becomes addictive, after a while. Derek wants to see Stiles strung out on his blood, and the pain is a kind of rush that he hadn't felt before. Stiles is careful, fingers stroking down Derek's side to wrap around his hip, other hand travelling up to cup his neck, pulling him close.

 

Stiles can't even describe what Derek's blood is like. He wants to savour it and gorge himself at the same time.

 

~~~

 

“It's been a while,” Stiles said as Derek shreds Stiles' shirt. Stiles could still taste Derek's blood in his mouth, and he could feel how flushed he was

 

“Yeah?” Derek said, distracted as he tugged at Stiles' belt, throwing it to one side.

 

“Decades,” Stiles choked out.

 

Derek paused, just for a moment. “You sure you can keep up, gramps?”

 

“Shut up, you fucker, and get in me.”

 

Derek coughed out a groan and slicked himself up. Stiles groaned as Derek slid home.

 

“Christ,” Derek said lowly.

 

They fucked frantically first, skin slapping obscenely against skin. Derek clawed into the mattress as he came.

 

~~~

 

Their second time was slow, tight controlled movements and bitten off words and groans.

 

~~~

 

“Time for me to go,” Stiles said. “People are starting to wonder already, I think.”

 

Derek froze. “Where are you going.”

 

“I've never been to Australia.”

 

“I have,” Derek said.

 

“I could always use a guide.”

 

* * *

 

40.

**Chosen Trope:** magical dick

 

They all stared at it, and that was wrong.

 

“Can you not?” Stiles’ voice was appropriately strained. He was sitting on Deaton’s decidedly not-for-human-butts examination slab, in his teeshirt. Just his Vulcan greeting teeshirt, because he wasn’t one to run around half naked --- except for now, naked on the wrong half, too. His pants along with his Wonder Woman underwear were tossed somewhere in the corner of the vet room like miserable concubines. “The _staring_. Can I just point out how uncomfortable this is making me? My morality knight Sir Scott, where has thy protection gone? My--- _dick is kind of being judged right now_!”

 

Scott’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at Stiles, as though well-meaning (probably was, which was totally wrong and not the point here.) “Sorry, Stiles, this is the only way.”

 

“My dick is **not** the only way! It is **not** the Elder Wand doing _Lumos_! Harry Potter kept his clothes on for that!”

 

“If it helps, you have a nice dick.” Isaac piped up, unhelpful as always. What was he even doing here.

 

“…Thanks.” Stiles groused anyway, glaring down at his own appendage. His shamefully standing, glowing dick. If you squint, the light leaned a little toward a soft aquamarine green (but please don’t). It was like a freestanding magical glow stick, and everyone was staring at it.

 

“You may have to lessen the … proximity, for this to work.” Deaton said somewhere in the background, peudo-helpfully.

 

“You all suck.” Stiles sounded like a dying man’s feeble protest to the bitch that was life.

 

“That might work.” Allison thinks she’s so funny, Stiles gritted his teeth, though his dick couldn’t help but twitch when her face got too close and a lock of her hair brushed by his crown. Allison shrugged, smiling, batting her big brown eyes and wielding those Disney Princess dimples like dual weaponry. “Same result, right?”

 

Both Scott and Isaac looked at her with a mixture of surprise and other things that Stiles didn’t really need to know about.

 

Lydia was definitely judging his dick. “Mm---She’s right you know, stimulation should maximize the glow.” (‘This is _not_ science!’ Stiles looked mightily betrayed.) Lydia made the judgey face at Stiles, the one where she flattens her lips cutely and combs a look from your head to toe, hotly condescending. (Stiles’ cock glowed brighter.) “Of course it’s science, Stiles. If bathing in the healing light of your cock really works, then who’s to say we won’t need it for a future mass-poison emergency again?” (All the bleeding, bruised, scratched present members said ‘ay’.) (Stiles hated them all.) (His cock glowed brighter, plotting against him.)

 

Later, on Stiles’ fourth orgasm (during which he was crying for help because his dick was raw it had to be _raw_ by now) because they discovered that cumming nullified the maximum healing light effect, Kira came running in holding up a papercut on her fingertip like it was passport, chirping something about ‘Might as well get healed!’

 

And Derek, when coerced into making his gaping wound close a little to make life easier (Stiles suspected that Derek just naturally didn’t know how to accomplish this in life), gave Stiles one of the most intense orgasms of Stiles’ life with his mouth, and Stiles accidentally came all over the guy’s face when Derek pulled away instead of swallowing or spit his cum out elsewhere. Stiles stared at Derek’s cum-covered face in alarm, body frozen like a raccoon caught eating your trash, “Uh.”

 

Derek (miraculously) calmly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, and then casually licked the cum clean off of his hand while glancing down at the hole in his stomach that was quickly closing up now that the poison was gone from his system. “Thanks.”

 

What was Stiles supposed to say to that.

 

“---er. Anytime.”


	7. Group C (Clean)

41.

  **Chosen Trope:** Tentacles!

 

“Danny, _no_ ,” Stiles said, slapping yet another tentacle away from his groin. “We need to get you changed back before you have to go home – or god, at least before lacrosse practice tomorrow. Coach will have a seizure.”

 

Although given the reach Danny had in his current state, perhaps Stiles should be more concerned Coach might do his best to keep him in it. He watched Danny wind the tip of one tentacle around the monitor and slide it closer to them. There was probably some sort of sucker arrangement keeping him attached to the back of Stiles's desk chair, and--

 

No, no distractions. He tapped on the keyboard but hardly had a few words typed into the search box before it was snatched away from him.

 

“Oh, okay.” He guessed Danny could still type that way, if he used those pointy, dextrous tips-- but apparently not, from the gibberish that ended up on his screen. He couldn't blame Danny for being frustrated about it, but throwing the keyboard at the wall was going too far.

 

“Hey, don't do that.” Something suspiciously tentacle-like was sliding around one ankle, and then the other. “Not that I don't appreciate the thought, since you know, we did have plans, but--”

 

He hadn't thought those plans had included binding Stiles's arms to his chair, but Stiles was not objecting to the idea in principle. He should be objecting to the idea at this precise moment, given Danny's distinctly non-human shape, but he'd always prided himself on being more adventurous than your average teenager, hadn't he?

 

“You're really into this, huh?” he said, watching two glistening limbs snake their way up his bare thighs. Something tickled the side of his face, and he leaned into it. How many tentacles did he even have? It couldn't be natural, that was for sure. And okay, it was either a magical lake or it was some effect of the spells those warlock people had been throwing after them or _something_ , but was it too much to ask that they turned his boyfriend into something he could at least put a species name to?

 

“I wish you could talk,” Stiles said, but then something wriggled under the hem of his t-shirt and made him gasp. It was different there, different somehow on that vulnerable hidden skin than it was on his arms, but it didn't feel bad. It felt-- alien, perhaps. Distinctly non-human, which, yeah. That made sense. Different from a werewolf sort of non-human, though Danny would know more about that than him.

 

That was probably why he didn't object when the tentacles nudged gently at his boxers again.

 

“Go for it,” he said, voice catching as it barely waited for him to finish before sliding in. Stiles let his head fall back, let those smooth coils wrap around his dick and tighten their grip. They pulled at him gently, lifting him almost out of the chair, his hips arching up.

 

“Oh fuck, Danny,” he groaned, and came all over his own chest.

 

Danny's face was right in front of his when he opened his eyes.

 

“You changed back!” He had to touch Danny's face. It was good, it was a nice face. He would have missed it if Danny was stuck as a tentacle monster for long.

 

“Back?” Danny said, just as something cool and smooth tickled at Stiles's ankle once more.

 

* * *

 

 

42.

**Chosen Trope:** Wingfic

 

 

“You _knew_ ,” he hissed as he pointed an accusatory finger at his best friend. Danny didn’t even look phased; just slightly amused as he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Duh. You _did_ tell me,” he pointed out and Jackson scowled before shoving him. “No. That’s not-,” he let out a sound of frustration, ignoring the light frown that marred his friend’s features. “You knew. When I told you, you didn’t even bat an eyelash. _Why._ ”

 

“Jackson, can we do this later? I told you, the rest of the pack needs-”

 

“You don’t get to do that! Dammit, Danny, answer my question!”

 

Danny looked pained, and Jackson tightened his jaw to keep the apology that immediately tried to claw its way out of his throat at bay. He wasn’t going to apologize for wanting an answer to a simple question. He owed him that much.

 

The heavy, accommodating sigh that followed was expected. What he didn’t expect was to watch his childhood best friend change before his eyes. His skin took on a slightly darker hue as a pair of sleek, black horns spiraled out on either side of his head. The duo stared at each other for a few heartbeats, Danny’s now orange eyes almost wary as they watched Jackson, but that wasn’t what Jackson was staring at.

 

It was the dark wings that fanned out from Danny’s back that had his attention, and he reached out to touch one before he even realized what he was doing.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Danny murmured as the wing flinched away from him, but Jackson snorted. “Shut up.”

 

The wings spread with a flutter when he did get his hands on them, palms pressed to the silky warmth of them. The shudder that chased it’s way down Danny’s spine and through the wings made Jackson smirk.

 

_Not your type, my ass._

 

He let his fingers trace over the light patterns he found in the wings, something like satisfaction burning low in his belly when Danny stretched them wider, as if arching into the touch. When he pressed his mouth to one of them, it was like an electric shock to his system through his tongue to his toes, and the moan that escaped him was even more of a surprise.

 

Almost as shocking as having Danny pinning him to the wall was, wings curled around them and the patterns now dimly lit to match his eyes. His mouth was soft though, and Jackson couldn’t help the way he melted into the kiss, the hands that roamed his body, and when Danny’s hand wrapped around his cock, his head dropped back against the wall.

 

Danny worked him slowly, making him arch and whine until he was ready to beg. Danny stepped in close with a smirk spread across his features and wings spread wide as he leaned in to Jackson’s ear.

 

“Get back to Beacon Hills, Jackson.”

 

He twisted his wrist in the same instant he sunk his fangs into Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson clawed viciously into Danny’s wings with a shout before everything went white.

 

Jackson woke up, wolfed out, with the pillow he had apparently been rutting into, (rather than Danny’s hand), covered in cum and claw marks in his sheets. He stripped the whole bed with a vicious scowl and didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

 

\-----

 

Two weeks later when he set foot in Beacon Hills, his best friend was no where to be found, but tucked in between a couple of pages of Stilinski’s research, titled **“INCUBUS”** was a small note, scrawled in Danny’s hand.

 

_Still not my type._

 

* * *

 

43.

  **Chosen Trope:** Historical-Noir-1930s

 

Stiles is sitting in a poorly-lit dive bar on his way to getting smoked, when a handsome fella in glad rags walks in the joint. The man’s a tall, dark and dangerous looking cat. He exudes sex and uncertainty, and Stiles can’t help if he’s just the kind of wrong that he’s desperately attracted to.

 

He summons the barkeep over, drops a sawbuck, orders himself a corn whiskey neat and sends an armagnac over for Tall Dark. It doesn’t take long before Stiles gets his man.

 

“Let’s dust out, go back to yours,” the handsome stranger says.

 

“I’ll lead the way,” Stiles chins.

 

-

 

“Why don’t we dip the bill and make ourselves a little more comfortable,” Tall Dark suggests. He removes his flogger and skimmer, lays them out on the luggage rack while Stiles goes over to the bar and fixes them up a snort of hooch.

 

Stiles takes off his jacket and walks over, hands him a rocks glass. They share a look, pregnant with arousal.

 

“I’m called Stiles.” he offers.

 

Tall Dark jerks a nod. “Derek,” is all he says, simple, down to business.

 

Derek throws back his eel juice and sets the glass down. Places his hand on Stiles’s hip.

 

“How do you want this to play out Stiles?” Derek asks. “What is it you want from me?”

 

Stiles licks his lips, looks his fill at Derek’s mug.

 

“I want you on your _knees_.”

 

Derek moves his hand from Stiles’s side, runs it up his arm, to the back of this neck. He pulls Stiles in with blunt force so that they're in each other’s space, breathing the same air. Derek sucks Stiles’s bottom lip into his mouth.

 

He sucks and bites down and makes Stiles moan with the pain-pleasure of it. Just as the burn is too sharp, he releases his lip and pulls away. Stiles’s fingers immediately fly to his kisser where there’s a drop of blood. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tonguing the coppery gash.

 

It’s got Stiles turned on, his dick plumping and leaking hot in his trousers.

 

Stiles then goes for Derek's buttons, frantic to rid Derek of his rags. He strips him bare and zeros in on his cock, mouth almost going dry.

 

“Like what you’re peepin’?”

 

Derek reaches around and grips Stiles by his ass, dragging him in so that they are sharing air again while he waits for his answer.

 

“You’re hittin’ on all eight, I got no kick,” Stiles hums out.

 

Derek goes back in for another kiss. Stiles is licking into his mouth with the fervor of a kitten with it’s beezer in the cream. Derek is sucking hard, fucking his tongue in and out of Stiles’s mouth. Stiles kisses back like he’s been deprived of the act his whole life. Like this is the last time he’ll get it this good.

 

Derek breaks off and starts sucking along Stiles’s ear and neck. Stiles is like a bitch in heat rubbing against his dick, and it feels so fucking good.

 

He picks Stiles up by the back of his thighs, wraps Stiles’s gams around his waist and walks them over to the bed. Derek throws his fella down, rids him of his rags then crawls in-between Stiles’s spread legs.

 

He gathers all the wetness he can in his mouth and spits it all over Stiles’s dick. He nuzzles the crown of Stiles’s cock then sticks his tongue out to taste. Derek laves at his slit for a long while making Stiles whine with impatience.

 

Derek then takes the tip in his mouth, gives it a strong suck and Stiles keens, full-mouthed. He takes Stiles’s dick low, tries to see how far down he can go before he chokes.

 

Stiles tastes salty and syrupy on his tastebuds, _delicious_. Derek bobs his kisser up and down sucking hard. Stiles is writhing like he’s gonna blow his gat any second.

 

Derek reaches down, rolls Stiles’s balls in-between his fingers, then dips down, pushes a finger into Stiles dry. He feels Stiles contract and flutter around the intrusion.

 

“Goddamn, _Derek._ ” he shouts out, bowing his back, pushing even further down Derek’s throat as he comes in jig time, shoots off all over Derek’s lips.

 

“Damn, you’re so silk Derek, so aces. You know _just_ what to do to me,” Stiles says, breathing heavy, coming down from popping his stones.

 

“That was top-notch Kitten,” Derek chins as he wipes the come from his mug and licks his fingers dry. "And we're just getting started."

 

* * *

 

44.

**Chosen Trope:** crossdressing

  
Derek couldn't stop staring. He was frozen in place while his mind worked frantically to verify that yes, this was what he was seeing. That was indeed Stiles up on stage in a wig and a dress. A very short dress.  
  
Damn he looked good.  
  
Stiles's eyes met Derek's. His steps faltered in the dance he was doing for just a beat and then he was back to shimmying and sashaying to the pounding music. Derek watched, fascinated, as Stiles danced. He wasn't the best dancer, but he was enthusiastic, moving to the music like it was part of his soul. Derek found himself hardening as he watched. Every turn made Stiles's skirt ride up, showing bits of exposed pale flesh.  
  
The show was over too soon. Stiles disappeared into the backstage without a second glance and Derek was left half-hard with no idea what to do next.  
  
"Hey, handsome."  
  
Derek turned. Stiles had lost the wig and changed shirts but he still wore the skirt and high heels. Derek's eyes drifted lower and stayed there.  
  
Stiles smirked and twirled. He moved surprisingly well in those heels. "Like it?"  
  
"Yeah," Derek admitted.  
  
"Cool. Wanna go outside?"  
  
Derek raised an eyebrow. There was no way Stiles was offering what Derek thought he was offering. Stiles batted his eyelashes at Derek and played with the hem of his skirt. Okay, so maybe he was offering. The question was whether Derek would accept.  
  
Of course he would. Stiles in a skirt was just plain hot.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Stiles grinned and grabbed Derek's hand. He led Derek through the club and out the back door. Once they were outside, away from the prying eyes of the other club patrons, Stiles pushed Derek up against the wall and kissed him. Derek's eyes went wide. He wasn't used to this forceful side of Stiles.  
  
He kind of liked it.  
  
Derek's hands drifted to the edge of Stiles's skirt almost of their own volition. He fingered the hem, debating going further. Stiles moaned against Derek's mouth and pushed back against Derek's hands. Derek slipped his hands under Stiles's skirt and grabbed two handfuls of ass.  
  
"You can do better than that," Stiles said, his lips only a fraction from Derek's own.  
  
Derek pressed a finger to the cleft of Stiles's ass. "You mean like this?"  
  
"Yeah." Stiles pushed back against the finger. "Just like that."  
  
Derek slid his fingers under Stiles's underwear and pressed against his hole.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles repeated. "Want you to fuck me."  
  
Derek's eyebrows rose. "Yeah?"  
  
Stiles writhed against Derek, rubbing their hips together. Derek groaned. He was close enough to coming that all it would take was a few more seconds. "I'm going to fuck you," Derek promised. "Later." When he had lube and possibly a bed. "When I can do it right."  
  
"I'll hold you to that."  
  
Derek wrapped his free arm around Stiles and turned them. He pushed a leg between Stiles's legs and thrust. He could feel Stiles's erection pressing against his leg. Stiles panted. His hands gripped Derek's shoulders tight.  
  
It only took seconds of rutting before they were coming, making a mess of their underwear and staining the front of Stiles's skirt.  
  
Stiles leaned bonelessly against the wall. "That was better than I imagined."  
  
Derek grinned and whispered in Stiles's ear. "When I fuck you, it will be even better."

 

* * *

 

  
45.

 **** **Chosen Trope:** Domestic AU with a tiny twist at the end.

“Are we actually sitting here watching paint dry?” Stiles asks for the seventh time in the last ten minutes. “This is our life now. We watch paint dry. I’ve turned into a person who sits and watches paint dry.”

”Stiles, you know we have to wait for it to dry so we can start the second coat before the stencils” Derek says calmly.

“Oh of course, can’t forget that second coat,” Stiles rolls his eyes and stares harder at the paint drying on the wall in front of him.

It’s quiet for about thirty seconds.

“Derek! I’m bored. Make me unbored,” Stiles whines.

“Make you unbored?” Derek’s eyebrows do a complicated scrunch,

“Ha, you made a funny,” Stiles sticks out his tongue, “I'm dying laughing here.”

“Ha, fucking, Ha,” Derek rolls his eyes and continues to stare at the drying paint.

“These fumes have to be making you loopy. They’re making me loopy and I don’t even have all the werewolfy, supermojoy senses.” Stiles twirls his paintbrush around on the drop cloth he’s sitting on, getting light green paint spattered everywhere.

“Stop that. You’re making a mess.” Derek grumbles.

“What? It’s not like it matters.” Stiles says, “And besides, you didn't answer my question. ‘fess up!”

“If I answer will you shut up?” Derek pulls his hand through his hair.

“Maybe, I might even tell you, you just got paint in your hair”

Derek throws his paintbrush at Stiles.

* * *

  
  
**_An indeterminate amount of paint drying time later_ **

* * *

“So, you wanna do it?”

Derek looks him straight in the eyes and deadpans, “Who says romance is dead?”

“That wasn’t a no…” Stiles grins and slides across the floor to Derek’s side.

“Why do I put up with you?” Derek pulls Stiles into straddle his lap and starts kissing his neck.

“Because you can’t get enough of this sexy bod?” Stiles kisses him and licks into his mouth as he settles into Derek’s lap thighs bracketing his body.

“Yeah, totally the sexy bod,” Derek runs his fingers down Stiles side and rucks up his paint stained t-shirt until he reaches soft, smooth skin, “I’ve been hot for your bod for years.”

Stiles giggles into Derek’s neck, “that would explain a lot,” he loops his arms around Derek’s neck and runs his long fingers through his dark, short hairs getting caught in the dying paint speckled throughout the strands.

“I never thought I would find painting sexy but I think I’m starting to see the appeal,” Stiles whispers and he rocks into the cradle of Derek’s hip. His dick rubbing against Derek’s thigh through the layers of their clothes.

Derek pulls Stiles in closer and pushes up into his rocking motion as the both settle into a steady rhythm. His own clothed dick rubbing into the groove of Stiles thigh.

“Yeah, like that, just a little harder,” Stiles breathes.

Stiles reaches between them and pops the button on Derek’s jeans pushing his hand into his underwear and pulling out Derek’s hard dick. Stiles rubs his fingers over the head and smears pre-cum down the shaft creating just enough slick to make it good.

“I love your dick,” Stiles babbles, “like I mean really love it. You have no idea. It’s just the right size and fits just right into my hand and you make the most awesome noises when I do this,” Stiles twists his wrist just so and Derek let’s out a high pitched whine, “Hottest thing ever, like for real.”

“Stiles for the love of god. Just shut up and come already!” Derek licks his palm and reaches into Stiles sweat pants gives two tugs on his dick and Stiles stiffens and comes in his arms without a word.

Derek ruts into Stiles lax hand once more and comes between them.

They both go orgasm hazy for a few minutes.

“It’s your fault we waited to paint the nursery till the last minute anyway,” Stiles grins as he stands up and shimmies out of his paint stained pants. He walks into their bedroom his naked ass peeking out from beneath his shirt tails.

Derek whimpers and stares at him as he leaves the room. It takes him all of ten seconds to rush after into their bedroom.

 

* * *

  

46.

  **Chosen Trope:** Fake!Boyfriends

 

“Look, it's not that hard. All you have to do is wear a suit, hold my hand a little bit, and make everyone else jealous,” Stiles says, his cell phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he searches for his wallet. The woman at the cash register eyes the pile of junk food making its way down the conveyer belt, then raises her eyebrow. Stiles shrugs, the phone slipping from his shoulder, and he scrambles to catch it.

 

“Stiles, I am not pretending to be your boyfriend for your college reunion.”

 

“C’mon,” Stiles whines, passing the still judgey woman a twenty, “Derek, please? How many times have I saved your life, and you can’t do me one favor?”

 

“It was once, twelve years ago. And I’m pretty sure you cashed in that favor when I helped you move into your house.”

 

Stiles scoffs.

 

“That didn’t count, you were paid in pizza and beer.”

 

The woman hands Stiles his change and receipt, and he carefully slips his wallet back into his pocket, grabs the bag of food, and heads out of the grocery store.

 

“You know I don’t drink,” Derek continues, still sounding slightly annoyed and slightly fond. “And you made me carry a fold-out couch up a flight of stairs. That’s nearly attempted murder.”

 

“Dude, I will pay for your tux rental or whatever. I had one boyfriend in college, and he was an ass, and I need to show these guys how awesome I’ve gotten since I graduated. Just… Please? It’s important to me.”

 

There’s a long, silent pause as Stiles fumbles his keys into the door of the Jeep, then buckles in. The engine ticks over in slow, lumberous seconds, until there’s a loud sigh through the phone.

 

“Fine,” Derek says, “but you’re driving.”

 

\---

 

Stiles fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket, tugging them to cover the bony edges of his wrists. He’s unreasonably nervous about his fake date, even went to the trouble of renting a nice car. _It’s just a fake date with Derek,_ he reminds himself, stepping up the front door of his apartment and ringing the bell.

 

Of course, Derek looks phenomenal. His suit clings to his shoulders, tapers in at the waist, accents the hard planes of him with soft, grey wool. His scruff has been trimmed and tamed into something more classy, and Stiles has the sudden desire to feel it against the tender skin of his thighs.

 

“You look good,” he says instead, his voice unexpectedly gruff. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss dinner.”

 

Derek looks Stiles up and down, then nods approvingly. He shuts the door behind him, then slides his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

 

“You, too,” he says, pulling away from a stunned Stiles and heading towards the car, a slightly cocky grin on his face. “Let’s go.”

 

Stiles is frozen on the porch for longer than he should be. He slowly makes his way to the car, knees weak. Derek is leaning against it, still grinning, and Stiles immediately starts thinking about how he can get revenge.

 

\---

 

Stiles’ back hits the tiled bathroom wall _hard_ , but he barely notices the twinge as Derek presses up against his front, hands bunched up with the fabric of his suit jacket, teeth nipping at the hinge of his jaw.

 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles groans, threading his fingers into Derek’s hair. Derek silences him with a kiss, gets his leg in between Stiles’ and presses in. Stiles thrusts up against the solid weight of Derek’s leg, then groans when he feels Derek hard against his hip. Stiles pulls himself away, gasping.

 

“What the fuck,” he pants, “is happening right now?”

 

Derek starts fumbling with Stiles’ belt.

 

“This is your fault,” he says, palming Stiles’ cock through his boxers. “You are entirely to blame for this. I’m going to fuck you in the bathroom of an academic building, and it is _not_ my fault.”

 

Stiles groans, thrusts up into Derek’s hand, and starts nodding.

 

“I am so okay with that,” he says, pulling Derek into the handicapped stall and slamming the door behind him. “There’s lube in my back pocket.”

 

Derek drops to his knees, licking his lips as he pulls Stiles’ free.

 

“I know,” he says, before his mouth’s too busy to say more.

* * *

 

47.

  **Chosen Trope:** Pretend boyfriends

 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Scott gave his best wounded-puppy look towards the _Slicer’s Pizzeria_ sign, as if it held all the answers. Stiles really needed to teach Scott some new facial expressions; he was _the_ Alpha now. Derek, for his part, had just let his eyebrow talk for him. Typical.

 

“Look, as much as I’m loath to admit it... Peter’s right. Unless you want to be some sort of involuntary prize in a twisted version of ‘Werewolf Bachelor,’ you need a fiancee.” Stiles explained. _Again._

 

Scott’s brow furrowed. He really was an overgrown puppy. “But... can’t I just _say_ I’m engaged?”

 

“Won’t work,” Derek reminded him. _Again._ “Werewolves remember.”

 

“But-”

 

“Scotty? Trust me. Nobody loves you more than me. I _got_ this.” Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder, ignoring Derek’s mumbled, “we’re doomed.”

 

It really wasn’t Scott’s fault that a few packs thought Scott was the most eligible bachelor, since he was an Alpha with prime supernatural territory, thanks to the tree stump of phenomenal cosmic power.

 

Stiles sighed. Maybe next year they could catch a break.

 

 

Scott’s meeting with the pack leaders, and their _seven_ prospects, could be described as dropping a bunny into a room full of... well... wolves. Stiles was 93% sure that if they had been outside, fangs and fighting would have ensued.

 

Worse, the leaders fought to dominant Scott’s attention, and poor Scott couldn’t get an word in edgewise.

 

And it had been giving Stiles a headache.

 

Stepping behind Scott, Stiles wrapped an arm around him and slipped a hand into Scott’s front pocket. A deafening silence slammed down upon the room.

 

Stiles kissed Scott’s neck, letting his thumb slide under the hem of Scott’s t-shirt. “I’m gonna get us something to drink. Derek, you want something?”

 

Stiles glanced over at Derek, in total sourwolf mode, with his eyes narrowed and nose flaring, like he wanted to smack Stiles. “Sure.”

 

Stiles walked off, calling, “Thanks for the wallet!” as he held up Scott’s billfold. Scott just patted his own back pocket, looking for the wallet that Stiles now had.

 

While waiting at the counter, Stiles could see the reactions from the seven females. Three looked disheartened, two watched Stiles in shock--Stiles just winked at them--and one looked downright angry. The last tried to turn up the sexy to eleven.

 

Fooling werewolves was easier than Stiles had thought.

 

 

“Okay.” Stiles plopped down the drinks. “Derek, I got you unsweetened ice tea, because you’re odd like that. Scott - Cherry Pepsi. And I have Moutain Dew, because I need the caffeine from you keeping me up all night.” Which wasn’t a lie. Scott’s freakout texts lasted until 4 a.m. “The rest of you can pick what you want,” Stiles said, gesturing to some empty cups.

 

 

The werewolves gathered around the table, leaving the head for Scott, who was downing his drink fast enough to make Stiles wonder if werewolves could drown from soda drinking.

 

“Oh, I can do all night,” the amped-up-sexy wolf purred, bending over to pop her breasts out. “Unlike _others_.”

 

Stiles snorted, placing a hand on Scott’s nape, calming him. “Quality over quantity.”

 

“Do you expect me to believe that a great Alpha like Scott McCall would settle for someone like you?”

 

Stiles saw Derek’s eyes flash blue, but neither Scott nor Stiles reacted to him.

 

Stiles just shrugged, pulling Scott’s face toward him. Stiles could hear the sharp inhale from the table as he fitted his lips over Scott’s.

 

Using his thumb, Stiles rubbed the corner of Scott’s lip, coaxing it open. Stiles deepened the kiss, pulling Scott’s tongue into his mouth slowly. Stiles’s free hand ran deliberately down Scott’s chest, mapping out Scott’s muscles. Scott wrapped one arm around Stiles’s waist, but Stiles felt it was more to ground himself than showing off.

 

Stiles broke the kiss when he heard Derek’s plastic cup snap.

 

Stiles ignored the apologetic look Scott threw Derek, instead giving Miss Showy Tits the biggest smug grin he could. “Seein’ is believin’.”

 

After that, the meeting turned to boring topics and networking until the packs decided to call it a night.

 

“See, man? Told you it’d work.” Stiles stretched so hard he felt his shirt ride up, earning _another_ scowl from Derek. He’d ask tomorrow what crawled up the sourwolf’s butt. Right now, he was tired.

 

* * *

 

48.

**Chosen Trope: arranged marriage and sex pollen/aphrodisiac**

 

He walked into the chamber to see his new husband lying on his - their - bed.

 

He hadn't looked like this before, at the ceremony. Then, he'd looked defiant and a little scared, wearing his sarcasm like armour. Derek couldn't blame him. It was bad enough to be marrying for political reasons, but to leave everything you know, to be offered to a man you've never met, was worse.

 

So he hadn't blamed his husband for his cutting remarks or his distance; instead, he admired his grit. Still, Derek anticipated an awkward consummation. He didn't anticipate this.

 

Stiles was naked, so flushed he looked feverish, his eyes wide and dark as he squirmed against the sheets. He was hard, his dick almost purple with arousal. He was utterly undone - nothing at all like the man Derek had met earlier. It was a disconcerting contrast.

 

"Derek?" Stiles sounded out of breath and distressed. "Is that you?"

 

Derek tried to focus on anything other than the restless movement of Stiles' body.

 

"Who else would it be?"

 

"Your uncle, he was here, he made me drink, oh, I don't know." He was barely coherent. "Derek, I don't– I'm not sure– I need–"

 

"Damn him," Derek swore, but he moved to sit next to Stiles on the bed. "It's okay, Stiles. It's going to be okay."

 

"This isn't me," Stiles said fiercely, regaining for a brief moment the steel that Derek had seen earlier. "Don't expect me to–" But he cut himself off, moaning more in pain than in pleasure.

 

"I know, I don't," Derek told him while cupping his cheek gently with his hand, and Stiles turned into his touch.

 

"But for now, will you– will you take care of me?"

 

"I'm pretty sure I already swore an oath today that I would," Derek said, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up.

 

"Then, oh, please, please," Stiles trailed off as he sat up and pawed ineffectually at Derek's trousers.

 

When Derek grabbed his hands and pushed them away, Stiles made a broken noise and looked up at him with wide eyes.

 

"I'll undress. I'll be right back, I promise," Derek held Stiles' gaze until he nodded, closing his eyes and biting his lip.

 

Derek took deep breaths. This wasn't what he wanted, not from a man he hoped he could come to see as a partner. But he couldn't lie to himself, and had difficulty removing his clothing over the bulge that had grown when he saw Stiles, beautiful, aroused and in need - in need of him, specifically.

 

He returned to the bed, but before he could move himself over Stiles, Stiles had grabbed his shoulders and, in an impressive show of grace and strength, put Derek on his back. He quickly moved down Derek's body and opened his lips - red and swollen already - around Derek's cock.

 

Derek groaned, feeling the wet heat moving down his shaft, until he heard a gagging sound coming from Stiles and saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

 

He pulled Stiles off but, in response to Stiles' whispered pleas, allowed him to move back down, holding Stiles' hair tightly in his hands and carefully controlling his movements. Derek felt heat shooting through his body as Stiles seemed content to let Derek direct him.

 

When he stopped again, he didn't give in to Stiles' desperate attempts to get him back in his mouth.

 

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Derek asked, and he was surprised at how glad he was that he knew the answer would be yes.

 

Someone had left oil by the bed - it was their wedding night, after all - and Derek used it to open Stiles up, as quickly as he felt he could, but far too slow for Stiles, who couldn't even form words. He moved himself on Derek's fingers as much as he could, as much as Derek let him, and tears trickled down his cheeks.

 

When Derek finally slicked up his cock and pressed himself inside, Stiles' legs hooked around him tightly and it wasn't long - it couldn't be long - before Stiles cried out. Then Derek came too, pushing into Stiles' exhausted body a few more times.

 

"Thank you," Stiles murmured as he slipped into sleep.

 

Derek wondered whether Stiles would be thanking him in the morning. It didn't matter, he decided. He had all the time in the world to convince Stiles to thank him again.

 

* * *

 

 

49.

 

 **** **Chosen Trope:** Forced proximity. Outsider POV. THE SHERIFF (because he's totally his own trope, and you can't convince me otherwise)

 

He thinks it probably says something about both his life, and his son, that he doesn’t even blink when he walks into the kitchen after a long shift to find Derek Hale slumped at their table, looking about as weary as he feels.

 

“Heeeey uh, Dad,” Stiles says. He’s standing in front of the sink, and it looks like he’s been washing blood off his hands. _Jesus_ , but John’s too damn old for this.

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“Umm…”Stiles hedges. “So there was a thing. With a witch?”

 

“Annnnd, that would be why Derek is sitting at our kitchen table at 11pm?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

John sighs. Stiles looks guilty.

 

“I might have….”

 

“Acted like an idiot?” Derek offers tiredly.

 

“Oh don’t _even_ , big guy.” Stiles points an accusing finger at Derek’s chest. “You were the one who got himself kidnapped in the first place.”

 

John clears his throat, and Stiles, looking chagrined, continues, “So uh. _Anyways_. We got cursed. By the witch. And funny story, but now we can’t get like more than five feet from each other for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Right, and by foreseeable you mean…?”

 

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that question, so he braces himself by collapsing into the chair next to Derek. He gives the werewolf a grateful nod when Derek nudges a beer that he obviously hasn’t touched in his direction. He is not a man to waste alcohol. No he isn’t.

 

“Next full moon,” Derek says, and John can’t help but wonder if he’s more worried about the fact that the full moon isn’t for another two weeks, or about the fact that Derek doesn’t look as upset by this as he thinks he should. John sighs and rubs at his temples. He wonders how he missed someone as broken and lonely as _Derek Hale_ falling in love with his son.

 

He motions with the mouth of the beer bottle at Derek. “You can sleep on the floor.”

 

~

 

The whole Derek-sleeping-on-the-floor thing doesn’t even last one night.

 

~

 

By day three, John thinks he might have to reassess his whole stance on not thinking of the werewolves in terms of actual puppies. Scott doesn’t always make that easy, but this thing with Derek? It’s rocking his worldview in ways that learning about werewolves in the first place hadn’t even done.

 

Derek basically just follows Stiles around from room to room, and yeah sure, he grumbles. He and Stiles snipe back and forth like it’s the only form of communication they know, but he also doesn’t even hesitate when Stiles absently asks him to do something. Hell, Stiles doesn’t even have to ask, half the time. Derek has just started automatically doing things for him.

 

John thinks it’s sort of charming. Which does nothing to discourage his desire to start making subtle threats whenever Derek is anywhere within the vicinity. He’s still Stiles’ dad dammit. Also, his gun has never been cleaner.

 

~

 

John opens the front door. He’d spilled coffee on his uniform, and he figures it’ll only take a minute to change. It’s almost 2am, so he’s sure Stiles and Derek are sleeping, but better to be safe than sorry.

 

He heads up the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky spots, and starts toward his bedroom.

 

Only to stop.

 

He’s not an idiot OK? He _knows_ what those noises mean, but it’s like a train wreck or something. Or maybe he’s just a masochist.

 

He pushes the door to Stiles’ room open and immediately slaps his hands over his eyes. And fuck. No not _fuck_. Oh _god_. He just really needs to un-see the image of his son on hands and knees as Derek…

 

“Dad!” Stiles voice breaks, and there’s the sound of scrambling, and John is still just standing there with his hand over his eyes like an idiot.

 

“I thought you were working. Work! It’s a thing. That you do. Were supposed to be doing…”Stiles babbles, stopping only when Derek hisses his name too intimately for John’s liking.

 

“I had to…” he doesn’t remember what he had to do. “Spilled coffee. On my uniform.”

 

“We’re decent,” Derek offers quietly.

 

John finally uncovers his eyes, but despite the fact that they are no longer….doing anything. And there are sheets covering all the important bits…it’s all still way more than he needs to be seeing. “I hope for your sake that you’re using protection,” he says finally. And yeah. John officially hates his life.

 

* * *

 

 

50.

**Chosen Trope:** Pretend Couple

 

 

Isaac, Melissa, and Scott let out another loud peal of laughter. It had been so long since they had all been together. Scott had missed it. He had certainly missed the look of genuine happiness on Isaac’s face. He hadn’t seen Isaac smile like that in weeks.

 

 

Scott almost jumped when Melissa touched his face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

 

 

Scott plastered on a fake smile. “Nothing.”

 

 

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

 

 

“No, it’s going to be good.”

 

 

“It’s going to be more than good.” Melissa beamed. “I can’t believe my baby’s graduating from medical school.”

 

 

“You can’t believe it? I’m sure there are some teachers from high school who are still trying to close their mouths from the shock. No one thought I was smart enough.”

 

 

“Hey!” Melissa punched him lightly on the shoulder.

 

 

“Ow!” Scott whined.

 

 

“No one talks about my baby like that, not even you.” Melissa said sternly. “I always knew you could do anything.” Then she turned and took Isaac’s hand. “And you...”

 

 

Isaac looked a bit startled. “I haven’t done anything.”

 

 

“Yes, you have. You’ve worked your butt off to go to school, all the while supporting my son and being the best boyfriend he could ever ask for. You bet your ass you’ve done something.”

 

 

Scott and Isaac shared a look. Scott could see the guilt in Isaac’s eyes. He was sure the same was reflected in his own.

 

 

“I hate to put pressure on you. Now that school’s done, don’t you think it’s time to think about settling down.”

 

 

Scott groaned. “Mom…”

 

 

“What?” Melissa cried. “Don’t mom me. I know it sounds cliche but I would like to have grandchildren one day.”

 

 

Scott looked over at Isaac, who was making confetti out of the napkin in his lap.

 

 

Melissa looked over at Isaac. “Don’t you two want a future together?”

 

 

Scott gulped. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the pretense anymore. “Mom…”

 

 

“I think about it all the time.” Isaac practically whispered. “The first night Scott kissed me, he pulled back and I looked into his warm eyes and I just knew...This was it for me.” He finished as he looked directly at Scott.

 

 

All the air rushed out of Scott’s lungs & he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He ran out of the room before he could hurl or cry or throttle Isaac, or a combination of the three.

 

 

When Isaac found him, Scott threw a pillow at his face. “You can’t sleep in here tonight. I don’t care if my mom finds out…” He blew out a breath. “This was such a bad idea.”

 

 

“Scott, I meant what I said in there.”

 

 

Scott stalked across the room and bunched his hands in Isaac’s shirt. “How could you say that? You broke up with me. You _tore_ my heart out and didn’t even tell me why. You’re only here because I didn’t have the heart to tell my mother about the break-up. And then you go and you say something like that. Why?”

 

 

“I meant it.”

 

 

“Stop saying that!” Scott yelled, not caring if his mother heard. He turned around.

 

Isaac laid a tentative hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I broke up with you because I could see the way our lives were headed. You are becoming the amazing man that you’ve alway been meant to be. And I...I’m the loser that my father always said I’d be. I didn’t want to drag you down anymore, Scott. But I meant what I said.”

 

 

Scott blinked.

 

 

“I meant it. I love you.”

 

 

Scott didn’t know who reached for who first and didn’t care. Their mouths crashed together and soon there was a flurry of clothes cast aside. When they were finally skin to skin, Scott sighed into Isaac’s mouth. He was home again and the overwhelming feeling made tears spring to his eyes.

 

 

Isaac pulled back & wiped a tear from the corner of Scott’s eye. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

Scott stroked Isaac’s cheek and kissed him again.

 

 

Isaac laid him down gently on the bed. His hands were gentle on Scott’s hips as he entered him again for the first time in weeks. Isaac shuddered against him. He kissed a litany of ILYs and “I’m sorrys” into Scott’s skin as he thrust inside of him deeply.

 

 

After they both came, Isaac laid down against Scott’s chest & Scott could feel the wetness against his skin. He lifted up Isaac’s head and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled back and Isaac finally at him. “You’ll never be a loser to me. I’m so lucky to be loved by you and don’t you ever forget that again.”

 

 

51.

 

 **** **Chosen Trope:** Sex Pollen

 

Stiles really should have known better. “I told -- told you,” Scott panted as Stiles ground up against him, making him whine and throw his head back. “Told you there was something wrong with that plant.”

 

Stiles didn’t answer him, just fit his mouth against Scott’s neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there as they rutted together. Honestly, though. How was Stiles supposed to know that the strangely colored buds on the tiny bromeliad he’d brought home weren’t normal? It had looked like the ones his mother had grown, budding like that as they died. None of _them_ had ever released sex pheromones. Really, how was this their _life_?!

 

The spore had hit them hard, and they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It had gotten hot and heavy _fast_. Clothes ripped off, mouths and hands were everywhere, and orgasms were a _literal_ burning need.

 

Scott had crushed the damned thing as they fell on each other. An hour later he called Derek, demanding he go see Deaton and find out what was happening. They needed it to stop and obviously what they were doing wasn’t enough. Stiles’ heart was beating like a jackrabbit, and he was fever hot. Scott wasn’t sure how much more Stiles could take.

 

Stiles caught Scotts lips in a bruising kiss, prying them open and sweeping his tongue deep inside. Scott moaned and opened wider as he shoved his hand down between them and grasped Stiles’ erection, jerking it roughly.

 

They’d both already come several times since they started, and it was starting to be a little painful. But the heat in their veins didn’t dissipate and neither did their need. Stiles was seriously starting to wonder if death by orgasm was a real thing.

 

Scott’s wail as Stiles sank his teeth into his flesh almost drowned out the sound of the door slamming shut. Stiles was coming for the he-didn’t-know-how-many-eth time when Derek burst through the bedroom door, bare chested and kicking his pants off. He climbed up next to them and watched as Scott finished bringing himself off.

 

“Did you --?” Stiles’ voice was husky and wrecked. Scott latched onto his nipple, and he moaned, turned on and overstimulated.

 

“You need something in you,” Derek answered brusquely. “It’s why I came home instead of calling.”

 

“Oh thank God!” Scott exclaimed in relief. Stiles echoed the sentiment. They had agreed long ago, at the very beginning of their relationship, that the only time penetration would happen between any of them was if all of them were present. It didn’t matter if it was just two of them doing it and the other watching. What mattered was that they were all three there.

 

Derek wasted no time, manhandling the other two into the positions he wanted them in -- Scott facing the headboard with his claws already sunk in the wood, Stiles behind him with his fingers dug into Scott’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. A probing touch confirmed what he’d been told to expect. Both of them were open and ready, thanks to the plant’s spore.

 

Scott whined and scrambled against the headboard when Stiles slid into him in one hard, sharp thrust, his hips starting to piston almost before he’d even bottomed out. Stiles threw his head back and wailed, then fell forward, licking and kissing along whatever of Scott’s back he could reach.

 

Derek lost focus as he watched them together. He never tired of the sight, and he let the sounds and smells wash over him, stroking at his own cock as he watched Stiles move in and out of Scott. He snapped out of it when Stiles moaned his name, pausing his thrusting long enough to reach for Derek’s cock and guide him where Stiles needed his most.

 

Derek gasped, latching onto Stiles’ neck as he slid all the way in. Derek followed Stiles’ lead, building a quick rhythm. Reaching around, he palmed Scott’s cock. His hand stroked in counterpoint, the smell of sweat and come and pheremones saturating the air, driving them on.

 

Stiles’ orgasm slammed into him when Scott reached back and raked human nails down his side and Derek dug human teeth into his neck. It was a domino effect after that as first Derek and then Scott followed him over the edge, heat flowing from them as they climaxed.

 

“No more plants,” Derek insisted as they collapsed in a tangle of come and sweat.

 

* * *

 

 

52.

**Chosen Trope:** Huddling for Warmth, De-aged, Wingfic (all werewolves have wings, thus Werewolves Are Known)

 

Peter’s wings as a teenager look differently than they do as an adult. As an adult, he kept the sooty gray wings tucked close to his body, trying to hide the bare patches where feathers were pulled out or never grew back. Now, with the way they’re spread, Chris can easily see that there are still bare patches, but the feathers are black and glossy, smooth where they brush against his skin, not ruffled like the adult version.

 

Peter is shivering above him, teeth chattering. Chris isn’t doing much better even though he didn’t get dropped into a frozen lake. The bandages on his chest, looped around him to hold the gauze steady on his side, are damp from where Peter’s dripped on them.

 

Peter whimpers, and Chris finally pulls the teenager down with a hand on the back of his head, tucking Peter’s face against his neck. Both of them were hurt today, but while Chris is used to being injured, getting dropped a hundred feet into a frozen lake isn’t something Peter makes a habit of. The patchy state of his wings makes flight impossible; a beta from the rival pack thought it would be funny to carry him up that high only to drop him. Derek hadn’t been able to get to him before he smashed through the ice.

 

The wolves had managed to get Peter out of the water before too long, but hypothermia had already started to set in. They had hurried back to the Hales’ big log cabin, Chris stumbling up the steps after Derek and Peter, and stripped off all their wet and bloody clothing. Derek had to go back, so Chris and Peter took care of each other before retreating to their warm bed.

 

Peter’s still a bit wet, still dripping onto Chris, but the warmth between their bare chests is growing. Chris rubs down Peter’s back, soothing and warming him, avoiding the base of his wings at first before lightly touching. Peter moans and clings, tucking his wings closer around them. It darkens them, with the wings touching over Chris’s head, but it preserves the warmth too.

 

Chris rubs the base of Peter’s wings, feeling Peter’s moan in his chest and his cock hardening against his thigh. He’s glad to know the cold hasn’t affected Peter that badly.

 

“Chris,” he pleads, hands clenching against his sides.

 

“Roll your hips, sweetheart,” Chris murmurs, turning his head to nibble on Peter’s ear. Chris still knows all of Peter’s hotspots even though he’s been turned twenty years younger, and it’s satisfying to feel him shudder and move his hips.

 

“Good. Such a good boy for me,” Chris whispers encouragingly. Peter whimpers and gets his mouth on his neck. Chris slides one hand down to cup and squeeze Peter’s round ass. He starts fingering Peter’s rim at the same time he slides his fingers deep into his feathers and then gives a rough rub to the base of his wing. Peter arches and cries out as he comes, his wings snapping out to either side of the bed. Chris hums and watches his face until he collapses back down. Peter’s breath is hot against Chris’s neck and shoulder, and he’s warm inside when he slips his finger into Peter’s hole. Peter groans and shuffles his wings, pulling them back in towards them.

 

“Again, Chris?” he asks, his voice soft. Chris kisses his cheek.

 

“You’re a teenage werewolf. You can go again.” His own arousal is evident but not urgent, cradled in the line of Peter’s hip and wet from his come. He flexes his finger and Peter twitches.

 

“You’re insatiable,” he grumbles into Chris’s shoulder, and Chris chuckles.

 

“Give me a kiss, love, and grab the lube. We can take a bath later, after I warm you up from the inside out.” Peter hums, purrs, kisses him slowly, then straddles Chris’s hips and leans over to grab the bottle. The prep is quick before Chris pushes inside. Both of them moan and grab at each other. Chris’s injury keeps him from moving, but Peter gives himself a fast hard ride anyway, until he’s sweating, his wings making a sort of cocoon around them. Neither one is cold when they finish, and they lay together for a long time after.

 

“Next time,” Peter says sleepily, “You can fuck me in the shower where the water’s warm.”

 

“I’ll fuck you in the shower as much as you want as long as there isn’t a next time.”

 

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

53.

**Chosen Trope:** Sex pollen

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, and he’s fumbling at his fly even as his pain rushes to catch up with the burning itch under his skin. His hands are eight steps ahead of him; they barely got the back door of the police cruiser open and he’s already flinging himself backwards across the seat, shimmying his jeans down his hips as he goes. “ _What are you_? You are way too calm and collected about this to not be some kind of creature of the night.”

 

Deputy Parrish’s eyes are wide and green under the dome light as he stares back at Stiles. He looks freaked but on the ball; his shirt’s unbuttoned and his holster discarded on the front seat.

 

“I’ve been here too long to be surprised by much anymore,” he says, voice rough and oddly resigned for a guy who just got doused with an epic dose of weird aphrodisiac incubus shit. Stiles is new to this emissary gig. He’s still learning the proper names for stuff. “If you say we got hit by some kinda spell, I’m inclined to believe you’re not bullshitting me.”

 

Stiles can’t help but pause in the act of undressing himself further. “Really. You trust _me_ not to bullshit you.” Stiles lifts his eyebrows. “Have we met?”

 

Their eyes meet, and Parrish undoes his belt and plants one knee on the vinyl seat, right between Stiles’s legs. He shoves himself forward so that his thigh presses against Stiles’s crotch where the front of his boxers comically tented with his erection. Unable to stop himself, Stiles grinds himself down against his leg, whimpering.

 

They didn’t really talk about this beforehand, not beyond Stiles’s shaky and admittedly rushed rundown of their two options--namely, fuck or die--but he can’t help the squeak that escapes him when Parrish closes a hand around his cock through his boxers.

 

“You look about as awful as I feel right now,” Parrish tells him. “I don’t know how or why this happened, which I fully expect you to explain to me later in detail, but right now--no, I know you’re not just fucking with me.”

 

A large, unrepentant grin splits Stiles’s face. “I’m kind of about to be,” he says. “And if we survive the night, I promise to explain everything my dad thinks he’s doing you a favour by not telling you.”

 

Parrish nods and climbs the rest of the way inside the car, pulls the door all the way closed with his foot. Their faces are so close together that Stiles tries to lean up to kiss him, hungry for it, but Parrish jerks his chin away.

 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, stilling Stiles’s hands where they’ve managed to snake inside his uniform pants. “If you’re not, we’ll find another way.” He pauses. “Or just die, I guess.”

 

Stiles nods so vigorously that he almost cracks the back of his skull open on the handle of the opposite door. “Consider this my enthusiastic consent to engage in life-saving sex,” he says, which is not the most romantic thing he’s ever said, but Stiles isn’t too proud to admit he’s been ogling Parrish’s ass since the day he joined the Beacon Hills police force five years ago. “Sure you’re okay fucking your boss’s son?”

 

“Circumstances notwithstanding? Yeah. Your dad will just have to forgive me.”

 

As he says it, Kyle simultaneously manages to shove his pants and underwear down with one hand and get Stiles’s dick out with the other. He lowers his weight more fully onto Stiles, and they both gasp as their cocks come into contact, both of them hot and painfully hard. Fucking incubi.

 

Stiles doesn’t waste time getting a hand around them both, then pulls Kyle’s head down with his free hand so they can finally kiss. It’s inelegant and messy, but goddamn, it’s good. Even if it’s gonna be over embarrassingly fast.

 

Kyle is quick to get with the program, bracing his hands on either side of Stiles’s head and thrusting into his fist. The sounds he makes drive Stiles _thisclose_ to jizzing in fucking seconds. Jesus. Fucking--

 

“Just tell me we can do this again when we’re not out of our minds,” he breaks away to pant, hips driving up in counterpoint. “That’d be good. Awesome, even.”

 

In answer, Parrish leans down to bite his neck, and Stiles _does_ come at that, so hard he sees spots.

 

He thinks he can take that as a yes.

 

Fucking incubi, though.

 

* * *

 

 

54.

**Chosen Trope:** Bed Sharing

 

 

“It’s only for a night,” is the first thing Stiles said when Derek let him in. Well, Derek didn’t exactly let him in — he just happened to open the door enough for Stiles to squeeze between Derek’s hard, unmoving body and the more forgiving soft wood of the old door frame. “My dad is working, Scott is at that Krav Maga weekend thing, and Lydia is in LA with her father for the weekend, so…”

 

 

“So… what? Why are you here?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised and arms folded over his chest. He pointedly looked at Stiles’ dripping form, his clothes completely soaked from the downpour, and down at the puddle forming at his feet. As if the worst the loft’s bare wooden floor had seen was a bit of rainwater, Stiles thought bitterly.

 

 

“If you laugh at me, I will —” Stiles started, but then was cut off by a crack of thunder so loud that the windows rattled and the floor shook. Conscious thought had absolutely no part in the step he took closer to Derek, eyes fixed on the massive windows as he quietly counted the seconds until the lightning flashed. He only realized how close he’d gotten to Derek when his flinch at the sudden brightness caused them to brush shoulders.

 

 

A hot spike of shame flushed through Stiles’ body as he took a step back. “It’s not what you think,” he muttered.

 

 

“I know,” Derek said, voice softer than Stiles was used to hearing. “You’ve never been afraid of storms. This is new.”

 

Grateful that he didn’t have to explain, Stiles ducked around Derek and toed his shoes off. “It’s just bad lately, and sometimes I need someone there to help keep me grounded.”

 

 

“Scott told me,” Derek said, finally closing the door behind them. “The nightmares thing.”

 

 

Stiles felt something loosen in his chest at the prospect of being able to stay. “‘Nightmare thing’ isn’t the best phrase for it, but we’ll go with that for now. Sounds better than ‘losing your mind thing’ or ‘insanity thing’ I suppose,” Stiles said with a shrug.

 

 

“Stiles —” Derek started, but Stiles cut him off.

 

 

“Just don’t, okay?” Stiles collapsed on the couch. “It’s not about you and me. You don’t owe me anything. We weren’t anything more than… anyway, it doesn’t matter. You tried to get out, and I totally understand.”

 

 

“Do you?” Derek asked, not looking at Stiles as he pulled a mug and a box of tea from the shelves.

 

 

“Believe it or not, I understand and even support the fact that your family is a higher priority than the company of some kid you were just messing around with on cold nights.” Much to his relief, the words didn’t come out bitter. It was true, gods help him. Derek didn’t owe him anything.

 

 

After a moment, Stiles became aware of a warm presence hovering over him. He cracked open his eyes to see Derek standing mere inches away, looking down at him with a frown.

 

 

“You’re awfully quiet.”

 

“Never thought I’d hear you complain about that,” Stiles snarked.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Derek corrected, but he didn’t smile. “You’re soaked and shivering.”

 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly leave my extra clothes here when you left, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to risk the water stain on the couch.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Derek huffed. He reached down, and before Stiles had a chance to squawk a protest, pulled his white t-shirt off over his head.

 

“Hey!” Stiles objected, wrapping his arms around his chest.

 

Then Derek’s hand was on him, thumb started rubbing circles in Stiles’ skin.

 

“You can’t just do that, Derek,” he breathed out even as he leaned into the touch.

 

“Do what? Touch you?”

 

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” Stiles bowed his head and shook it in exasperation. “When are you leaving again?”

 

Derek’s hand tightened on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m not planning to leave again, Stiles.”

 

Stiles scoffed. “ _Everyone_ leaves.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, exasperated. “You want to go to bed with me. I want you in bed with me. So come on. But wet clothes have to be off, first.”

 

Stiles gave Derek a suspicious look. “Just for warmth? And to keep the nightmares away?”

 

Derek nodded and took Stiles’ hand. “Just for warmth. And comfort.”

 

 _Comfort_. Lightning cracked again, and Stiles shivered and followed Derek deeper into the loft.

 

* * *

 

 

55.

**Chosen Trope:** Genderswap (both Stiles  & Derek) ****

 

 

Stiles blinked awake in the early morning light, turning her head from the sun streaming in the window to focus on the still sleeping form beside her. Derek was curled up on her side, her back to Stiles, the t-shirt she was sleeping in rucked up high on her back. Stiles smiled to herself, watching Derek's body shift with each breath she took. The mornings that she woke up beside Derek were her favorite. And even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone else, she suspected that Derek knew.

 

 

Stiles reached out and brushed her fingertips over Derek's exposed skin, moving up along her spine, pushing the shirt up higher as she traced the bones. She watched as Derek shifted beneath her touch, the first sign of her waking up, followed by a sleepy yawn. "Good morning," Stiles murmured, shifting closer to Derek, letting her arm slide around her slender waist as she pressed a kiss just beneath the edge of her shirt.

 

 

"G'morning," Derek mumbled, stretching an arm over herself before relaxing back against Stiles. "Wha' time is it?"

 

 

"Still early," Stiles said, carefully avoiding the actual number, knowing Derek wouldn't be pleased being woken up quite so near to dawn.

 

 

Derek groaned but didn't say anything. She rested a hand overtop Stiles' and guided it to her exposed stomach and then up under the edge of her t-shirt, before leaving Stiles to her own deductions.

 

 

Stiles smiled and followed Derek's lead, her hand sliding further up beneath her top until her fingertips were brushing over stiffening nipples, palm cupping her breast, massaging gently like she knew Derek liked. The small, pleased sound that met her ears was enough to tell her she was right. "God, Derek," Stiles said, voice hushed, as her hand explored beneath Derek's shirt.

 

 

Derek made a humming sound in her throat before rolling onto her back, looking up at Stiles with a heavy gaze. Stiles glanced up into her face and smiled softly, loving that she got this part of Derek, that she alone could have this. Stiles pushed Derek's shirt further up her body, exposing her breasts to the cool morning air, she grinned up at Derek before ducking her head down to wrap her lips around a nipple, gently teasing the nub with her tongue. She pulled back slightly, blowing over the damp skin, watching her nipple stiffen even more.

 

 

Stiles leaned back up over Derek, moving to slot their legs together, pressing a thigh to Derek's center. She captured Derek's lips in a more insistent kiss, rocking her hips down, grinding her pussy against Derek's thigh, feeling Derek press up against hers. "Are you going to tell me what you'd like?" Stiles asked, breaking the kiss, lips still brushing over Derek's as she spoke.

 

 

Derek smiled faintly, meeting Stiles' gaze evenly. "You mean you don't know?" She asked, eyebrow raised.

 

 

"Oh, I do," Stiles said evenly, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

 

 

Derek's smile widened as she tilted her head up to whisper in Stiles' ear, "You know exactly what I want. I want your mouth on my pussy, your tongue on my clit. I want your long fingers pressing into me until I'm begging you to make me come. Do you think you can handle that?"

 

 

Stiles' eyes widened at the challenge, but she couldn't help but grin as she replied, "Can you?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

56.

  **Chosen Trope:** Magic Healing Cock

 

The silence that falls after the fae pops back out of the material plane is as heavy as a brick.

 

Scott is the first to speak. “Did she just… Was she being literal?”

 

Derek can practically hear Stiles grin behind him, but it’s Lydia who says, “Probably. Fairies are known for handing out unusual gifts.”

 

Derek doesn’t feel any different, save for the lingering tingle of magic in his body, centering around… well, there’s tingling.

 

After a few more awkward seconds, Stiles clears his throat. “Obviously we should test it—”

 

“ _No_!”

 

That may be the first time everyone’s agreed on something at once.

 

Back at the loft, Stiles is the last to leave. That’s hardly unusual, but he hasn’t been able to wipe that stupid smirk off his face all day.

 

“Derek.”

 

No. He will not engage.

 

“Deeeeerek, I have a paaaaaaper cut.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Well, it’s more like a nasty hangnail. And it hurts. Like, a lot.”

 

The moment Derek turns to face Stiles – who’s sucking the tip of one finger into his mouth – he knows he’s already lost.

 

“C’mon, big guy,” Stiles says, his eyes sparkling when Derek pins him to the bed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

It’s pretty easy to keep Stiles’ mouth occupied after that.

 

\---

 

Not a week later, Derek gets a phone call.

 

“Derek, hey! Could you – _ow, dammit_ – come on over to— _Put that down! It’s, like, 3,000 years old_!”

 

Derek sighs. “Be there in ten.”

 

Turns out Stiles’ new apartment is infested with gnomes. Their gnarled little fists are like solid oak, and if Derek isn’t going to admit that three of them ganged up and knocked the wind out of him, neither is Stiles going to seek actual medical attention for his black eye and bruised ribs.

 

“ _Gnomes_ , Derek. I’m not even telling Scott.”

 

Stiles has a point. He also has a series of nasty puises starting to form across his torso.

 

His naked torso.

 

“Stiles, what are you—”

 

“Pants off. You know what you gotta do.”

 

Derek growls. “I don’t actually have a…” He can’t even say it. He just can’t.

 

Stiles grins. “Only one way to find out.”

 

Derek’s not quite sure of the sequence of events that lands them both naked in Stiles’ bed, and by the time Stiles is thrusting three long, nimble fingers into himself, Derek can’t remember whether it’s day or night outside.

 

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “Give it to me _right fucking now_.”

 

Despite Stiles’ eagerness, Derek goes slowly; he can still smell a hint of pain. He holds Stiles down, trying to keep him from further hurting himself, but it only makes Stiles push back harder.

 

Derek is trying so hard to control himself that he barely notices when he bottoms out. Stiles, however, gasps and twitches like he’s been shocked. Before Derek can even respond, Stiles wraps a leg around his waist.

 

When Derek thrusts, Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” he mutters as he starts to writhe. “I can feel it everywhere, _oh my god_.”

 

Stiles’ black eye is already starting to fade, and even though Derek doesn’t feel what Stiles seems to feel, he would swear they’re more connected than they’ve ever been. He mentally gathers up the swelling feeling in his chest that Stiles always puts there and _pushes_ , like he can give it all back just by thinking about it.

 

Stiles yelps and goes completely still, and Derek’s terrified for a split second before he realizes Stiles is coming, spurting all over his chest without a hand on his cock, and just the sight of it shocks Derek into orgasm, too.

 

It’s not until he hears indignant sputtering that he realizes he’s collapsed on top of Stiles. He quickly rolls off, worried again that he’s hurt Stiles, but Stiles is just muttering, “…going to do that, you’d better be ready for round two…”

 

Derek catches his breath as Stiles rambles away, burning off the extra energy, and Derek makes a note to hold back a little next time. It seems like he’s actually got—

 

“A magical healing cock, what the fuck,” Stiles exclaims with a laugh. Derek can’t see a single bruise on his body, and he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. “You could open a clinic. Dr. Derek’s Divine Dick cures what ails you.”

 

Derek’s too tired to do anything but throw an arm over Stiles. “Really?”

 

He feels Stiles’ grin against the side of his neck. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

* * *

 

 

57.

**Chosen Trope:** bodyswap, de-age, general age fuckery

 

 

"No, but like," Melissa says, flips her hair and pops her bubble gum, "I think it's almost--Oh my God! Why is it so hard to behave like an adult when you're in a teenage body?"

 

 

Stiles--John--John in Stiles' body--nudges her on the shoulder, and says, "It's not that different. You're a pretty hip lady."

 

 

The voice that comes out isn't John's voice, and his smile looks wrong on Stiles' face. Stiles's face is always in extremes, rubber banding from one expression to the other. John's emotions are soft, steady, calm: looking down with a sigh, gritting his teeth in anger, little smiles where his mouth just lifts up at the corner.

 

 

"My hips are twice as wide when I'm a lady," she says, and gets up to inspect herself in the mirror.

 

 

"Your hips are perfect."

 

 

Melissa grins back at him. "I like 'em. Though maybe not as much as I did these babies in a pair of skin tight acid washed jeans."

 

 

Stiles-John bends his head down and kneads the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I tried to tuck Stiles' shirt in this morning. I think I flunked his math test."

 

 

"How's he doing as you?" Melissa throws herself down on John's bed on her stomach, and props her head up on her hands.

 

 

Stiles-John shrugs. "I don't know. He's down at the Sheriff station. I told him to call in sick, but honestly, with that kid? I'm not sure he can't do my job better than I do."

 

 

"He's a bright kid," Melissa says, and pops her gum again.

 

 

"How's Scott?"

 

 

"Scott? About forty-five, visibly greying, and with a full handlebar moustache? That Scott?"

 

 

Stiles-John leans back on Stiles' bony elbows. "Yeah, that Scott."

 

 

Melissa rolls over to look at the ceiling, uses her hands as a pillow for her head. "Fine, I think. He likes the moustache."

 

 

"He looks like a 70s porn star."

 

 

Melissa grins up at him. "I suppose you'd know, being in the body of a teenager and all."

 

 

Stiles-John rubs his hand over his face. "Ugh, no. Never. Not in Stiles' body."

 

 

"I know. It's such a shame. I can't be with anyone in this state. I can't deal with anyone my age who would sleep with a 16 year old, and I don't care how old my body is, I'm certainly not going to go out and find anyone younger." She rolls over onto her stomach again. "Too bad you didn't turn into a teenager like I did."

 

 

Stiles-John's voice comes out in a little horse. "Yeah." He coughs, then waits a beat. "I know they said it'd wear off, but, um, when we get back to ourselves, I'd really like to take you out and get to know you better."

 

 

"You already know me," Melissa says--almost whispers.

 

 

"I'd kiss you right now if I wasn't in Stiles' body," Stiles-John's voice is weirdly low, too.

 

 

"I want you to kiss me," Melissa says, and puts a finger to her lip, "here," to her neck, "here," and a spot just beneath the collar of her t-shirt, where it's too big and hanging down, "here."

 

 

"I would, if you wanted." He let's Stiles' hand hover over Melissa's belly button, "here, too," then her hip, "and here," and the zipper of her jeans, "and here."

 

 

"My, Sheriff," Melissa says, twisting around to get comfortable. "On the first date?"

 

 

"We've been going to lacrosse games for decades. Those can be dates."

 

 

"All right," Melissa grins, "you want to watch, then?"

 

 

"Watch?"

 

 

"You can't use Stiles' body. I still have mine." She pulls her shirt over head, and goes for the button on her jeans. "Tell me what you'd do to me."

 

 

"I'd, um," Sheriff-John says, "first, I would--"

 

 

"DAAAAD!" John's voice yells up the stairs. "I'm home! Come help me with dinner!"

 

 

Stiles-John makes a pained face. "He's always had the worst timing."

 

 

Melissa buttons her jeans again, and pulls on her shirt. "It's probably for the best," she says, and pats Stiles-John on the cheek. "The last thing I want to come to mind when I remember our first time together is Stiles coming in his pants."

 

 

"Yeah," Stiles-John says, and hangs his head a little. "It's probably for the best. Um, I'll see you?"

 

 

"As soon as everything's back to normal, call me. We'll start back from here."

 

* * *

 

58.

**Chosen Trope:** Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn

 

Even though it’s near impossible for a werewolf to get drunk, Peter is going to do his damnedest to succeed tonight. Tomorrow, he’s getting married, which should be a joyous occasion. It’s not. He’s never met the man he’s going to spend the rest of his life with, fuck, he doesn’t even know his _name_ beyond _Argent._

 

Trust his sister, _the Alpha,_ make decisions for the good of the pack and fuck Peter over in the process. It’s only logical, he’s young and not going to pose a threat by breeding mongrels to challenge Argent’s heir while warming the bed of the widower scion to cement ties. If the old coot could even get it up.

 

There’s still wolfsbane clinging to his lips from when he’d chewed the flowers earlier, the scent tickling his nose when he knocks back another shot of Gray Goose. He swiped one of Talia’s cards, for this one last hurrah before he’s doomed to spend the rest of his life in a not-so-gilded cage.

 

He’s deep in his misery but not so deep that he doesn’t notice the man who’s taken over the stool next to his. There’s a hint of gunpowder in the sweaty musk that’s tantalizing to his wolf senses, and a set of broad shoulders under a battered leather jacket.

 

He must’ve made a noise because the man turns around, away from the whiskey in front of him – the memory of a gruff _leave the bottle_ flits through Peter’s mind – and their eyes meet, blue on blue.

 

The guy’s handsome face is delivers on the promise his shoulders made. He’s that much older than Peter but not _old_ , not like the man he’s about to wed in the morning. Peter can’t help a slow grin spreading on his face as he leans forward on his stool, towards the man whose expression is flitting from curiously alert to _interest._

 

Fifteen minutes and a few more shots later he’s pressed against the alley wall as the man – _Chris_ – bites on his neck. The calloused hand rubbing Peter through his jeans has him fighting to not to beg, to not to bare his throat any further. Brick scrapes though the thin fabric of his shirt and he can smell blood, the broken skin healing almost instantly as his hands grip Chris’s broad shoulders, human nails digging into the leather.

 

He’s so hard it hurts when Chris moves to flip them around, surprisingly strong for a human. He doesn’t resist when a heavy hand on his neck guides him down, on his knees on the wet pavement and just licks his lips eagerly, tasting the mixed whiskey and vodka and Chris’s cinnamon toothpaste.

 

Scent of wolfsbane still clings to his nose as he rubs his face on Chris’s jeans, mouthing at the hard line of the man’s cock through the rough fabric. An inpatient tug on his hair, hard enough to be painful draws a deep moan from him as he lifts his hands to undo the fly.

 

Peter inhales deeply at the musky scent, nuzzling his face against the still-trapped balls before another tug has his head positioned just right for Chris’s hard cock to slide between his reddened lips.

 

Peter moans, eyes fluttering shut as he grips Chris’s thighs, letting the man fuck into his mouth with short, sharp thrusts. He’s drunk and sloppy, gagging and drooling but he doesn’t care, heat gathering at the pit of his belly. He’s gonna come from this, from the weight of the cock on his tongue, the taste of bitter precome mingling with the booze and filling him with a haze of lust.

 

He tries to reach down to take himself in hand but Chris is lightning-fast, grabbing his wrist and pinning it down, the hand in his hair tightening to pull Peter off his dick.

 

Peter blinks and looks up, breath coming in short pants through his still wide open mouth. It’s driven out of him when he’s pulled up and pushed into the wall, face-first, rough bricks blessedly cold against his face.

 

When Chris’s spit-slicked cock starts to slowly press into him, his last coherent thought is how much he is going miss this.

 

**

 

Werewolves are not immune to hangovers. The morning sunlight stabs at Peter’s eyes, and his head throbs with every step he takes.

 

When he sees his future husband he blinks and thinks, he must still be asleep. Because it can’t be –

 

“Peter,” Talia’s voice is firm. “Meet Christopher Argent.”

 

* * *

 

 

59.

**Chosen Trope:** AU – Fantasy, Fusion( Dragonriders of Pern), Sex Compulsion

 

 

 

He had known it was coming. Could feel it building up for the past couple of weeks and the rest of the Weyr had sensed it as well. Still, Stiles hadn’t expected it to hit that night. The heat that settled low in his belly, one that echoed from Ameria to him as she prepared to take Flight.

 

 

 _You’re sure it’s time._ He asked her through the connection between them, hands fumbling as he laced his trousers and threw on a shirt. He didn’t bother with a vest, absently strapping a knife to belt in case he needed it.

 

 

 _No, I think I’m just imagining it._ Sarcasm leaked through the bond, laced through her words. He didn’t mention how tired they were. How even knowing it was coming didn’t mean that could avoid going out when Threadfall was falling to help battle it with the rest of the riders.

 

 

His arms still ached from the weight of the flamethrower and he worried she wouldn’t be able to bray fast enough, he worried because he could feel her worry. She wasn’t about to be caught in Flight by someone undeserving just because she was tired.

 

 

 _It will be okay,_ he reassured her entering the hall and meeting Scott’s eyes _you got this_. He didn’t have to fake being confidant. He had faith in the Gold dragon that had Impressed on him all those years ago. It didn’t matter how tired they were, that this was her first Flight, she would make them work for it.

 

 

“The bronze's have already started to gather.” Scott looked on edge as he came to stand by his side. Stiles looked to where the other riders where already watching the air avidly. He knew most of them, had trained beside them with the knowledge that one day this would happen. It didn’t stop him from grimacing when Jackson glanced his way long enough to smirk confidently.

 

 

“God he’s been bragging hasn’t he?” Stiles muttered to Scott falling in to step with him as they approached the group, moving to where Allison and Lydia stood instead. Lydia moved to his side and Stiles was relieved to see she didn’t seem upset with him. Hers was the only other Gold and they both knew whatever one took flight first would determine which rider would be the next Weyrleader.

 

 

Scott winced, “He seems really confident.”

 

 

“Well he shouldn’t be.” Lydia gave Stiles an appraising look informing him “Did you know the Hale’s arrived last night?”

 

 

Stiles breath caught, stunned “Derek’s here?” He felt Ameria’s interest curve towards him, the heat narrowing to a focus. Stiles tore his gaze from her to where a new group of riders were entering the room to watch the Flight. Derek was at the lead, his eyes locked on Stiles and for the first time in weeks Stiles felt like he could breathe again.

 

 

He could feel his dragon’s determination and sent encouragement her way.

 

 

Before their best chances for Ameria’s first flight had been Allison’s bronze, maybe even Scott’s Blue if he could hold out. Derek had left months ago, sent away because the current Weyrleader had never liked the Hale’s and hadn’t even wanted them to be included at any Hatchling's despite the fact their family had been Impressing on dragons for generations.

 

 

Stiles hadn’t dared to hope he would make it in time, it hadn’t stopped him from sending a letter the moment he’d felt the change in Ameria.

 

 

Stiles felt the beat of her wings as she rose in the air and heard the roar of the dragons as they gave chase to follow. Derek’s lips curved into a grin when their eyes meet.

 

 

+++

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wolf’s wings curled around Ameria when he caught her and Derek was already pressing Stiles against the wall, hands framing his face and to hold him in place as the passion from their dragons mating surged through them.

 

 

Stiles could Ameria’s delight at being with Wolf again match his own at seeing Derek and he laughed against Derek’s lips, tugging him to the door so they could seek out Stiles chambers.

 

 

He lost time, Ameria tied so closely to him that the next time he opened his eyes he was spread out across his bed and Derek was inside him.

 

 

“Stiles,” Derek held his hand gripped above his head as he thrust into him. “Almost didn’t make it in time.” He groaned biting at Stiles neck.

 

 

Stiles tightened his legs around him, pulling him in closer “You did, I’m glad you did.” And let passion overtake him.

 

* * *

 

60.

**Trope:** Coffee Shop AU

 

At 27, Derek is older than most of the baristas at Holy Grounds, but he loves the ritual of pulling a shot, loves the rich smell of coffee, the sound of rain pouring down the picture windows. Besides, Peter never cares if Derek snatches a few moments during the quiet hours to work on his thesis. That’s what he’s doing when the door swings open with a jingle of bells and a scent as fresh and familiar as running through the Nature Preserve as a child, laughing with his sisters and cousins. Derek’s eyes flutter shut of their own volition. He breathes in deeply, trying to draw in as much of the scent as possible.

 

When he finally forces himself to look up and say, “What can I get for you?” Derek finds a college boy standing on the other side of the counter, staring like he’s seen a ghost.

 

“Derek?” he chokes.

 

“Have we met?” Derek asks. He doesn’t think so. He’d remember that scent, remember the scattering of moles by that expressive mouth.

 

“We thought you were dead!” the boy chokes. To Derek’s alarm, tears are rising rapidly in his warm brown eyes. The wolf in Derek wants to reach out to him, to touch his shoulder, ease the scent of misery rolling off him. The human makes him take a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, “Who are you?”

 

The boy’s jaw drops open, anger and affront warring in his expression. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

 

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

The boy steps right up to the counter, leaning over it to jab a finger into Derek’s chest. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but when I find out, I’m going to kick your werewolf ass!”

 

Derek grabs the boy’s wrist, even as he instinctively double-checks that nobody heard them. “I don’t know how you know that,” he growled, “but if you say another word . . .” he squeezes the fragile bones in his hand, hard enough to hurt.

 

The boy flinches, but Derek gets the feeling it’s not from his grip. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” the boy asks.

 

“No,” he says, feeling almost guilty for the droop in the boy’s shoulders. “But you know me?”

 

“Yes,” the boy says. He’s not lying.

 

Derek glances around the coffee shop -- quiet, but still too full for any conversation involving werewolves. “I get off at 10,” he says. “We’ll talk then.”

 

* * *

 

His name is Stiles. He’s from Beacon Hills.

 

 

“I can’t believe you recognized me!” Derek marvels. “I was only sixteen when I left!”

 

 

“Sixteen?” Stiles asks, a strangled note to his voice.

 

 

Derek smiles ruefully. “Most of my family died in a fire when I was just a kid. My uncle, Peter, adopted me and my sister. We moved to Seattle then.”

 

 

At Peter’s name, the boy’s scent goes sour. He glares down into the macchiato Derek made him, fingers tapping restlessly against the rim of the cup.

 

 

Derek catches the hand. “Why do you remember me?” he asks.

 

 

Fear and hesitation spark through Stiles’s scent. He licks his lips. “I had the biggest crush on you in Beacon Hills,” he admits. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. Derek wants to press it, but Stiles’s scent is distracting him. The hand he’s captured has turned in his, twining their fingers together. Derek leans close, catches his lips in a kiss.

 

 

He’s expecting Stiles to kiss back. He’s not expecting him to throw himself into it, to clamber into Derek’s lap and run frantic hands up under his shirt. They fall back onto the sofa, shucking clothing aside.

 

 

“I missed you,” Stiles groans, when Derek takes him in hand. “I missed you so much!”

 

 

Afterwards, they lie together, Stiles draped over Derek, resting his head on his chest. Derek is playing with his fingers, humming quietly. He feels safe in Stiles’s company, in a way he’s rarely felt since the fire.

 

 

Stiles swallows, squeezes Derek’s hand. “If you’d lost a memory,” he said hesitantly. “Something important, would you want it back? Even if it hurt?”

 

 

Derek shrugs, drawing his nose through Stiles’s hair. “I guess.”

 

 

Stiles smiles shakily, lifts himself up onto one elbow. “Your uncle’s an Alpha?”

 

 

“How did you know that?” Derek asks, and Stiles touches a finger to his lips.

 

“He changed your memories, Derek,” he says.

 

Derek wants to protest, but Stiles’s heart is steady, his eyes deadly serious. “Tell me,” Derek says.

 

And Stiles does.

 


	8. Group D (Clean)

61.

**Chosen Trope:** Cop/Detective AU (Deputy!Derek) ****

* * *

62.

**Chosen Trope:** Barista AU ****

* * *

63.

**Chosen Trope:** Prison AU ****

**Notes:** In prison, they say 'don't drop the soap', but that isn't a problem for inmates Hale and Stilinski.

* * *

64.

**Chosen Trope:** Roadtrip ****

* * *

65.

**Chosen Trope:** wedding

* * *

**66.**

**Chosen Trope: Regency AU! with a dash of zombies/apocalypse**

* * *

**67.**

**Chosen Trope:** Porn Stars

* * *

**68.**

**Chosen Trope:** fuck or die: tentacles made them do it


End file.
